


dance with somebody

by panglosian



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Keith (Voltron), I'm just gonna say slowburn again for the people in the back, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rating May Change, Rivals to Lovers, Street Dance, Tags May Change, Underage Drinking, but they're both street dancers lol how does that work, dance au, keith is a ballerino, lance is a ballerino, mostly klance with some shallura in between, non binary pidge, rated T for cursing and smooching, slowburn, so much mutual pining, there is a lot of langst in this guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9455081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panglosian/pseuds/panglosian
Summary: Once a ballet prodigy, Lance left everything behind to become a street dancer. Four years later, Lance and the rest of Team Voltron are gearing up to compete in an underground street dance competition, ready to make their mark. Unfortunately, the team is thrown for a loop when Lance's doubles partner leaves them to form her own group. Now, they have to find a replacement before the tournament begins - one that's good enough to get Team Voltron to the final.That replacement just happens to come in the form of an ill-tempered ballerino with a bad haircut.





	1. Okay Ladies Now Let's Get in Position

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Lance freaks out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an alternate title to this fic: the dance fic nobody asked for from a dancer with way too much time on her hands
> 
> Hello everyone! So it's been a while since I've written a fic, but voltron has me in so deep that I had to write this. This is basically going to be a dump of all my klance headcannons and fluffy thoughts, along with a lot of shit that I choreograph in my head while I'm on the treadmill. Also, it's going to be really, really gay. Enjoy~

Lance was late for everything.

It was a fact that he was well aware of, and his friends bothered him about it constantly. It wasn’t like it was a _conscious_ decision – he was a heavy sleeper, and had a habit of slamming the snooze button into submission. During the day, he had a penchant for losing track of time, and he often didn’t realize how late he was until it was… well, too late. Time always seemed to pass differently for Lance: whether that was due to his attention issues or his inability to keep a solid eye on the clock, he wasn’t sure.

Lance mentally kicked himself as he sprinted across the subway platform, taking the stairs two at a time until he burst onto the noisy city street. The winds whipped his jacket around his shoulders, rippling the fabric of his shirt as he made a break for the crosswalk. The curve of his headphones hit against the back of his neck as he ran, and he could vaguely hear a beat coming from the speakers, but he was too focused on reaching his destination to turn the music off.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to stray very far from the subway entrance to get where he needed to go. The Altea Academy of Dance was a massive building situated on a busy street corner, in what the residents of the city called the “dance district”. In reality, the district was really just a few city blocks that held a variety of urban performing arts centers. Actors, dancers, singers, and artists flocked to the area to work and study, and the academy was at the center.

The building was made of white marble, covered from top to bottom in long, sweeping windows. As he burst through the front doors, Lance found himself surrounded by the familiar sounds of the academy. Two huge staircases led off to the left and right wings on either side of him, and directly in front of the entryway was the ornate set of doors that led to the academy’s theater, which housed several major events every season.

Lance stuck out like a sore thumb as he rocketed up the left staircase, pushing past a few boys holding sparkling costumes in the crooks of their elbows. Instead of leggings and a leotard, he wore baggy sweatpants and a bright blue shirt underneath a loose jacket. His converse squeaked against the pristine floor as he rounded a corner.

Street dancers didn’t belong at the academy, and yet there he was.

When he exploded through the door of room 2C, he blurted out, “I swear it wasn’t my fault this time!”

Pidge was lounging in one of the windowsills as Lance skidded to a stop and doubled over, gasping. Hunk was sitting cross-legged below them, his dark hair bathed in the soft morning light.

“Lance,” Pidge rolled their eyes, smacking a palm against their forehead. “We _live_ together. How is it that you’re the only one who’s always late?”

“To be fair –” Lance wheezed, “– I _did_ say that I’d meet you guys here when I got out of the shower.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t think you meant _an hour and a half_ after you got out of the shower.”

“Sorry,” Lance mumbled, dropping his bag on the other side of the room as Hunk rolled to his feet with a grunt. Lance paused his music, detangled himself from his headphones, and tossed them aside as well. “My abuela called, and I lost track of time.”

“Dude, it’s really okay,” Hunk gave him a thump on the back, which didn’t exactly help his wheezing. Funny, Lance could have sworn he sounded almost nervous when he suggested, “Now that you’re here, why don’t we just start choreographing? We shouldn’t waste any more time, and I think that we should –”

_“Oh no you don’t.”_ Pidge hopped down from the windowsill and scurried over to them. “You’re not getting out of this. You have to tell him.”

Hunk swallowed thickly, and Lance could definitely see him sweating. He raised an eyebrow as he poked his friend and asked, “Tell me what?”

“U-uh,” Hunk stammered, pressing his fingertips together. “Come on, Pidge, can’t this wait?”

“No way,” Pidge shook their head fervently. “She’s your girlfriend, dude – you tell him.”

“Oh yeah, where is Shay?” Lance looked around, expecting to see Shay’s camo dance bag thrown in a corner somewhere. “I wanted to go over a couple of things with her before we started team practice.”

“Um…” Hunk let out a shaky laugh, refusing to meet his friend’s eyes. “She’s not going to make it today.”

Pidge shoved him from behind. _“Hunk.”_

“That’s cool,” Lance shrugged, offering Hunk a small smile. “She’s still getting used to our schedule. I’ll just have to check in with her when rehearsal is over.”

Pidge snorted. “That’s going to be kind of hard.” 

Lance’s eyes flickered warily between his two teammates. “What does that mean?”

There was a long pause as Lance waited expectantly for an answer. Pidge’s eyes slid over to Hunk, who was fiddling with his thumbs. They elbowed Hunk again, and he took a deep breath and said, “Shay quit.”

Lance stared at Hunk for a moment, then barked out a laugh. “Ha! Good one, Hunk. You’re really getting good at that, buddy. Keep it up.”

“Lance, he’s not lying,” Pidge said, in all seriousness.

Lance’s laugh died in his throat. Sure, Hunk was as much a joker as Lance was, but Pidge? Pidge didn’t really joke that much of their own accord. He took a step back as Pidge and Hunk waited for his next reaction.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Lance held up his hands, his head spinning in confusion. “She quit? Like, _quit_ quit?”

“ _Quit_ quit,” Pidge nodded.

“But…” Lance gaped, his hands flailing as he searched for a response. _“Why?”_

Pidge pulled out their phone and swiped the screen, handing it over to Lance. “She posted this on twitter last night.”

Lance made a tiny indignant noise as he scanned the screen. The picture showed Hunk’s girlfriend Shay hugging two other girls, all of them wearing matching t-shirts with a shiny blue logo emblazoned on the front. 

The caption read: _Can’t wait to compete with these lovely ladies! Catch Team Balmera at the tournament at the end of August!_

“Hunk, explain!” Lance thrusted the phone towards Hunk, and the larger man fumbled with the device while Pidge exclaimed, “Hunk I swear to God if you drop that –”

“You’re her boyfriend!” Lance backed up and slumped over against the wall as Hunk read the phone screen. “She didn’t say anything about quitting? At all?”

“I haven’t seen her all week,” Hunk admitted, handing the phone back to Pidge, who examined it for any damage Hunk might have caused it. He must have noticed Lance’s annoyed pout because he added, “I’m sorry, it’s been a busy week for both of us!”

“Not too busy to switch teams, apparently,” Pidge rolled their eyes for the umpteenth time.

“Not helping, Pidge!”

Lance felt blindsided – no, he felt utterly _betrayed._ He couldn’t even form a coherent sentence as he unraveled the mess of thoughts in his brain, trying to make sense of their situation.

Three years ago, Lance, Pidge, and Hunk had formed Team Voltron with two goals in mind: to 1) grow as dancers together, and 2) to compete in the city’s annual underground street dance competition. The tournament was famous in the area for attracting the best artists in the city. Dancers from all throughout the tristate area flocked to the tournament every year, and any street dancer worth their salt wanted a place onstage at the arena.

For the past three years, Team Voltron qualified for one of the eight spots in the tournament, and even managed to advance to the second round of the competition. Unfortunately, the second round of the tournament was the doubles round, which was Team Voltron’s Achilles heel. They managed to drop the ball every year, and last year’s defeat had been particularly embarrassing. Lance’s pride took a heavy blow, and he was determined to turn things around.

Six months ago, Hunk started dating Shay, and they found that she and Lance had incredible chemistry – dance chemistry, that is. She hopped on the Team Voltron bandwagon and trained as Lance’s doubles partner. Suddenly, things were turning around: for the first time, Lance thought they had a real chance to win the tournament.

Lance groaned, sliding down the wall to the floor as he remembered just how great their last routine was shaping up to be. It was supposed to be _their year_! “The Year of Voltron”, as Lance had so fondly called it for two straight weeks after qualifying for the tournament. He had been so excited to work with Shay, and now he was lost again.

“I can’t believe she just left,” Lance mumbled, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Guys, what are we going to do?”

“We’ll do what we always did,” Pidge shrugged. “You’ll just have to duo with either me or Hunk.”

“Yeah, because that worked _so_ well last year,” Lance grumbled.

“Oh come on, Lance, it wasn’t that bad,” Hunk piped up.

Lance pouted, remembering the event vividly. He had been so prepared to take the stage and kick some ass. Instead, he’d had his ass handed to him by a team he had never even heard of. He and Pidge were so out-of-synch, it was almost comical. The lights suddenly seemed too bright, too hot, and before he knew it their time was done, and their competitive year was over.

“We got booed off the stage!” Lance whined, smacking his head against the wall behind him (which hurt a lot more than he expected). “It was the single most embarrassing moment of my entire life!”

“That’s a lie,” Pidge smiled coyly, leaning towards Lance. “Remember that time we were at that club –”

“Pidge!” Lance snapped.

“And that forty-year-old man came up to you and you said –”

“Pidge, _stop,_ ” Lance groaned, covering his face with his hands to hide his blush. “You told me you’d never bring that up again!”

Pidge held up their hands placatingly, but their smile was evil. “I remember no such thing.”

Lance couldn’t help but laugh at that. He knew Pidge was just doing their best to cheer him up, but he couldn’t seem to shake his funk. When he closed his eyes, he kept picturing that night nearly a year ago, and how completely mortified he felt as he faced a giant crowd of people who were waiting for him to fail.

“Now I remember why I never duo with you,” Lance narrowed his eyes at them.

“Because we have worse chemistry than bleach and ammonia?” Pidge crossed their arms.

“Okay, first off, I have no idea what that even means.” Lance peeled himself off the wall and stood, brushing the dirt off his pants. “Second, no – because you’re a fucking vicious gremlin.”

“Bite me, loser.”

“Alright guys, chill out,” Hunk sighed, already sounding annoyed. “We’ll get through this. We can’t just panic and shut down.”

“Was that a dig at me?” Lance asked, but Hunk simply continued over him.

“Look, the Midnight Exhibition is in less than a week, remember?” Hunk provided. “All of the teams that qualified for the tournament will be there to show off their skills, and there will be plenty of dancers there who aren’t part of any competing teams. We’ll scope out our options there. You never know – maybe we’ll meet someone who’s good enough to duo with you, Lance!”

“And if we don’t?” Pidge addressed the elephant in the room.

“We have to,” Hunk stated firmly.

“So what, we’ll just have to compete as a team of three? Is that even allowed?” Lance could feel his anxiety begin to rear its ugly head. He could feel himself start to sweat as he wondered aloud, “What if someone challenges us to a doubles battle while we’re there? We’ll be eaten alive!”

“That’s just a chance we’ll have to take,” Hunk said. “Besides, we can’t just _not_ show up. Every team has to go – it’s mandatory.”

_“Ugh,”_ Lance moaned, looking at the ceiling as if the tiles held all the answers. “Just when I thought our luck was turning around…”

“We’d better start working on our team routines,” Hunk pointed out. “Before we even start worrying about doubles battles, we need to focus on making it past the first stage. Now, I’ve got a couple of ideas that I want to run them by you guys.”

“Let me replace the cord first,” Pidge rummaged through their bag and produced a length of wire. They looked pointedly at Lance as they explained, “Because _someone_ decided to yank the cord out of their phone like a two-year old.”

“Hey, I was in a rush!” Lance snapped back.

“You’re always in a rush!”

Their bickering was interrupted by a knock at the door, and the sound of a metal doorknob squeaking as it turned. When the door opened, in walked Allura in all her gorgeous glory. “Oh, hello Lance! Hunk, Pidge. It’s nice to see you all back in the studio.”

Lance’s eyes lit up instantly. “Glad to be back, Allura.”

Allura Altea was the owner of the Altea Academy of Dance, and their resident dance expert. Though she was young, she had already made a name for herself in both the conventional and underground dance communities. At twenty-five, she was an accomplished contemporary dancer, while also leading a double-life as the leader of Team Altea, one of the top street dancing teams in the state. Though Team Voltron and Team Altea were fierce competitors, the members of both their teams were the best of friends, and Allura was nice enough to offer them a rehearsal space at her studio whenever they needed it.

“Are you working on new choreography?” Allura asked, watching them from the doorway.

Lance snorted, crossing his arms smugly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Allura narrowed her eyes. “Now Lance, you know I’m not like that.”

“Hey, competition is competition,” Lance shrugged. “What if you’re only here to get all our dirty little dance secrets, huh?”

“Ignore him, we’re just a little stressed today,” Pidge said from around the tiny corner where the speaker was situated.

“Stressed? Why?” Allura drew her eyebrows together, wincing as Hunk tripped over his bag and hit the wall with a crash. “I thought you guys were gearing up for your best season yet?”

Lance exhaled through his nose, pressing his fingers to his temple. “We just found out that Shay quit the team to form her own.”

Allura gasped, her fingers flying to her mouth. Lance had told her all about his amazing plans for their doubles routines, so she knew better than anyone how much Shay meant to him as a teammate. “Oh my.”

“We’re not mad at her or anything,” Pidge emerged from their workspace, having replaced the aux cord successfully. “She just surprised us. We need to figure something else out, and fast.”

“Yeah,” Hunk murmured. “We can’t compete without four team members, so we’re hoping to find someone else at the exhibition. We’ll just be going as a trio.”

“Allura, you wouldn’t happen to know anyone who can fill in for Shay, would you?” Pidge asked, pushing their huge, round glasses higher on their nose.

“Sorry, I don’t really have too many connections in the street dance community. Not many people know me personally offstage, other than my teammates.” She took a deep breath and let out a shaky exhale. “Besides, I’ve got my own problems right now.”

“Oh no, did something happen with your team?” Hunk’s eyes widened.

“No, it’s nothing like that,” she assured them. “I got a call a couple of days ago. My father has passed away.”

Lance’s stomach dropped, and he instinctively reached out to her. “Oh my God, Allura, I’m so sorry.”

Lance knew just how important her family was to her. Allura came from an affluent British family, and her father was the one who gave her the money to move to America and start her own dance school. He always believed in her, even though she was young. 

Allura took his hand, and he gave hers a squeeze. “He had been sick for a long time. We were expecting this to happen. I’m getting on a plane to England tomorrow, and I won’t be back until after the exhibition.”

“Huh?” Lance dropped her hand. “If you’re not going to be there, then who will dance pairs with Shiro?”

Allura and Shiro were a legendary pair. Takashi Shirogane was the person who trained Allura in street dance when she arrived in the United States, and though he was a legend himself, she was easily his equal. They were considered the best doubles dancers in the whole tournament – the whole region, probably. Lance had never seen Shiro or Allura dance with anyone else, and frankly he couldn’t even imagine it. Team Voltron could get by at the exhibition on the off chance that nobody challenges them to a doubles battle, but Allura didn’t have that luxury: dancers would be trampling over each other to challenge them.

“Shiro told me that he was working on a solution, but I’m still worried,” she admitted, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “It seems both our teams are in similar situations.”

“I’ll say,” Pidge replied.

“Well, I’d better go. I’ve got a class to teach.” Allura’s eyes shifted to Lance as she asked, “We’re still on for later, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Lance smiled amicably, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “You know that if you ever need anything, you can just ask, right?”

“Yeah,” Hunk supplied. “You’ve done so much for us; we’d be happy to help you if you need it.”  
  
“You’re all so kind,” she grinned. “I wish you the best of luck.”

She closed the door carefully when she left, leaving the trio in silence. Lance exchanged tentative glances with his friends, unsure of what to say to them. And what could he say – “Oh yeah, guys, everything’s going to be fine! We’ll find a new doubles partner in no time!” That was a complete lie. The truth was, Lance didn’t know if they would even find another member for their team before the tournament began, let alone one that was compatible with Lance’s dancing style.

Lance managed to shove down every ounce of anxiety in his body. Sure, he was scared, but they had work to do.

“So,” Pidge scrolled through their phone and tapped a song, the light catching the surface of their glasses. “Let’s get down to business.”

 

* * *

 

Keith ached from head to toe when he pushed his way out the studio door, but it was a good kind of pain. It was the kind of pain that he carried home, the kind that reminded him of what was important.

Ballet. Ballet was important, and during dress rehearsal week, it was his entire life.

He hefted his dance bag higher on his throbbing shoulder as he walked down the hallway, clicking up the volume on his phone so that Adolphe Adam was the only thing he could hear. As he walked down the hallway, he listened intently to the music and replayed the rehearsal in his mind over and over again, until he could close his eyes and see every move behind his eyelids.

As he plucked a sequin off his sweat-slicked shoulder, he felt someone yank out his earbud and mutter next to his ear, “You look like you want to kill someone.”

Keith jumped, tensing every burning muscle in his body defensively, only to find that he’d been interrupted by his brother. He let out a shaky breath and, scowling at the larger man’s smirk, said, “Shiro, you know it’s tech week. The only person I want to kill is myself.”

Shiro laughed low in his chest, his scar crinkling with his nose. He was still decked out in his dance gear: a baggy purple tank top, sweatpants, and a pair of Adidas. He was in stark contrast to Keith, who wore a tight-fitting white t-shirt and black leggings, typical of most male ballet dancers in his company. “That’s dark, even for you.”

Keith snorted at that, shoving his brother playfully as he smothered a smile. “Shut up.”

“So how’d rehearsal go?” Shiro asked as they walked together towards a bench.

Keith plopped down and removed his ballet shoes, wiggling his toes in the open air. His feet were covered from nail to heel with callouses and blisters, but he was used to it. The life of a dancer was a painful one. “It was hell. Madame Dupont is using the most intense variation of Giselle I’ve ever danced, and I’ve been in this show three times already.”

“Rough,” Shiro sat beside him, offering him a water bottle. Keith graciously accepted – he’d been so distracted that morning that he forgot his water bottle, the single most important item for a dancer. “Mom and I are coming opening night, you know. Make sure to smile for her.”

“I have to smile anyway,” Keith rolled his eyes, pulling on a pair of socks. “I’m Albrecht – I’m madly in love with Giselle.”

“Until she dies.”

Keith’s eyes snapped up to his brother, who was stifling a laugh. “You looked up the ending? You just ruined it for yourself.”

Shiro shrugged indifferently. “I’m always confused at the ballet. It’s easier if I know what’s happening before I go in.”

Keith focused on lacing up his sneakers. “Shouldn’t you still be in rehearsal with Allura? You’ve got that big thing coming up, right?”

“The exhibition,” Shiro corrected him.

“Yeah, that.”

Shiro rested his elbows on his knees, fiddling with the fingers on his prosthetic hand. “Allura’s dad died.”

Keith knit his eyebrows together as he turned to face his brother. “That’s a shame. Is she okay?”

“She’s okay now, but she’s leaving for England tomorrow morning.” Keith could see the concern in Shiro’s eyes when he talked. He noticed the tension in his back and the way the muscles in his shoulders went rigid. He was stressed, that much was sure. “I need to find an alternate.”

Shiro locked eyes with Keith, and Keith watched his expression change from worry to optimism. Keith’s eyes widened as he realized a moment too late exactly what Shiro was insinuating. “No.”

“Ke-e-e-eith.”

Keith shook his head intensely, grabbing his bag as he got up. “No way.”

“Keith, come on!” Shiro scrambled after his brother, but Keith didn’t look back. Once he caught up, Shiro preached to the side of Keith’s face. “You know you’ve always wanted to go to an underground event.”

“Shiro,” Keith sighed, slowing down to match his brother’s pace. “When you taught me street dancing, it was just for fun. I’ve told you a thousand times: ballet is my life. I can’t afford any distractions right now.”

“Remember how much fun we had together when I was teaching you?” Shiro pouted, knowing it was one of Keith’s weaknesses. “You’re good at it, so why not spend a night away from ballet?”

“Shiro –”

_“One night.”_

“I’m not a street dancer, Shiro!”

“Not even for me?”

“The show opens in ten days,” Keith ran a hand through his hair, removing the tie and letting his locks fall loose around his ears. “I need to focus.”

“You’re always focused – don’t pull that shit on me,” Shiro said. _He’s got a point,_ a voice in the back of Keith’s mind nagged, but he shoved the thought away quickly. “And the exhibition is on Thursday, six days before opening night. It’s at midnight, so you’ll have time for a nap beforehand. You won’t be tired the next day, I swear. And if you are, I’ll personally carry you to rehearsal.”

Keith had all but stopped walking at this point, opting to stare at the ground rather than at his brother.

He trusted Shiro more than he trusted himself. When the Shiroganes adopted him at the age of twelve, Shiro had been his rock. He was the first stable force in Keith’s life – the second being ballet. The Shiroganes payed for his first lessons, and when it became apparent that Keith had talent, they even let him move to the city with Shiro when he was sixteen to join a dance company. He dropped out of high school the second he was able and pursued dance full time, and Shiro had his back all the way.

Shiro had always been a street dancer, and though they studied different disciplines, they bonded over their shared love for the art. Shiro taught Keith everything he knew, and Keith was actually pretty good at it. He wasn’t surprised by that – after all, Keith excelled in every area of dance he studied. No, he was surprised by how much he genuinely enjoyed it. It offered him a certain kind of freedom that ballet didn’t.

At the same time, though, he was scared – scared he would like it a little too much. Ballet offered him stability. Discipline. Security. What did street dancing offer him?

Keith had only ever known one person to leave ballet for hip-hop. He’d never seen them again. 

Keith wouldn’t be like that.

_But it’s just one night,_ Keith thought as Shiro watched him, waiting for his response. _What harm could one night do?_

Keith heaved a defeated sigh, “Fine.”

Shiro’s face broke out in a face-splitting grin, gathering up Keith in a tight hug. Keith could feel the sweat through his shirt. “You are literally the best brother in the entire world! You won’t regret this.”

“You’re crushing me,” Keith squeaked, wiggling out of Shiro’s embrace. “And don’t think you can use this as an excuse to drag me in as an alternate again. This is a one-time thing.”

“Absolutely.”

“Is Allura still upstairs?” Keith asked, gesturing to the second level. “I have to return a compression sleeve to her, and if I put it off I’ll forget about it.”

“Yeah, she’s doing a private lesson right now in 3D,” Shiro said. “Do you want me to wait up for you?”

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” Keith assured him, and left him behind on the first floor.

Keith had never done a show at Altea Academy before, so he’d never been to the third floor. Allura had told him the rooms were largely unused, and students only usually utilized them for independent study. The hallway was quiet when he entered it, and if it wasn’t for the music emanating from the farthest room, he would have never known where she was.

As he made his way to the room, he couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of dread pooling in his stomach. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t street dance in front of other people! His hip-hop skills were average at best, and he was severely out of practice.

From what Shiro had told him, the tournament gathered together the best of the city’s dance world, and the Midnight Exhibition was a kind of opening ceremony for the competition. The best dancers in the state would be there; Keith could never compare to them.

And Team Altea had a reputation to keep up! He would never forgive himself if he made a fool of Allura’s team in her absence. And what if someone recognized him? He was something of a ballet prodigy – he would be a fool to think that nobody would know who he was. Even though the hip-hop community and the ballet community were completely separate entities, there was bound to be an overlap. _Just look at Allura, for God’s sake!_ Keith cursed inwardly. _She’s one of the top contemporary/ballet dancers in the city,_ and _she’s a street dancer._

He finally came to 3D. All the windows on the third floor were one-way glass, so spectators could watch the dancers without the dancers feeling the pressure of unwelcome eyes. He could see Allura inside, so he raised his hand to knock.

When he saw who she was teaching, though, his fist froze in the air.

Allura looked gorgeous as always, having cast aside her street attire for a black leotard and pink tights. Her thick white hair was wrangled back into a large bun at the crown of her head, and when she spoke she smiled and laughed with her student as if they were old friends.

And her student.

Hot _damn._

Her student was a young man who looked to be around Keith’s age. His tan skin glowed under the studio lights, stretching out over long, sinewy limbs. He ran a hand through soft brown hair, pushing it away from captivatingly blue eyes that Keith couldn’t look away from. He wore black leggings not all that different from Keith’s, and a blue shirt that said: _Get to the Pointe._ When he raised his elbows anywhere above his shoulders, the shirt would ride up to reveal more skin, and Keith could practically feel his cheeks heating up.

When he smiled, Keith almost had an aneurism.

_Keep it together, Kogane!_ Keith shook his head and let his hand drop, moving so he could get a better view of their lesson. _You’re not a hormonal teenager anymore. You can look at a pretty boy and not die._

The pretty boy in question stayed in the center of the room as Allura played music, barking orders at him that Keith didn’t pay much attention to. The song was slow and languid, and it was clear she was having him do adagio. 

He began in fifth position, and when he began to move, Keith couldn’t look away.

The sequence was simple, but Keith could tell it wasn’t intended for a beginner. Keith knew an experienced ballet dancer when he saw one – every movement was deliberate, and he knew exactly what to do with every part of his body. His turnout was impeccable, and though his leg extensions were lacking, Keith could tell that he was actually incredibly flexible. He just looked out of practice.

As Keith watched, there was something about the way he moved that seemed… familiar. Keith couldn’t quite place it, but he felt like he had seen this kind of dance before. Then again, Keith thought he would remember a face as gorgeous as that. 

Keith realized too late that Allura had abandoned her place at the back of the room and was heading over to the door with an empty water bottle.

When the door opened, Keith practically jumped ten feet in the air. Allura watched as he scrambled away from the door, face blushing beet red. He hoped to God she didn’t notice him staring.

“Oh, Keith!” she said, clearly surprised to see him. “What a surprise. Do you need something?”

“Y-Yeah,” Keith stammered, reaching into his bag to pull out the compression sleeve. “I wanted to return this before I forgot about it. Thanks for lending it to me. If you’re busy, though, I can come back later.” 

“Nonsense, we were taking a break anyway,” she waved him off, taking the sleeve off his hands. 

Keith cleared his throat before asking, “Who’s your new student?” 

“Oh, he’s just an old friend,” Allura explained. Leaning forward, she whispered proudly, “He’s quite good, isn’t he? He’s not as good as he used to be, but I’m keeping him in shape.” 

“I suppose,” Keith managed to get through two words without his voice trembling, which was a win for him.

“Allura, who’s that?” Allura’s student called out, clearly unable to see Keith through the one-way window.

“Just a dancer I know,” Allura replied. Keith was thankful that she didn’t draw attention to him, because he never thought he’d survive a conversation in this state. She turned back to Keith and asked, “Do you want to stay for a while? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“No thanks!” Keith said a little too quickly, offering a smile to look less conspicuous. If Allura suspected anything, she didn’t let on. “Shiro told me about your dad. I’m really sorry.”

“Thank you, Keith.” She flashed him a small, sheepish smile. “I’m trying my best to get through it.”

“I know what that’s like,” Keith murmured, his fingers tracing the inside of his own forearm.

“Yes, I supposed you do,” Allura looked at him with her lips drawn tight. Her look held no pity, which made Keith feel a little better. Even after all this time, the subject of his birth parents was still a tough topic.

“Well, it looks like I’m your replacement for the exhibition,” Keith chuckled dryly.

Allura’s face broke out in a grin, and she was practically bouncing with excitement. “You are? That’s excellent!”

“Shiro can be persuasive,” Keith scratched the back of his neck.

“He can,” Allura agreed wistfully. She got the same faraway look in her eyes that she always got when she talked about Shiro – _especially_ when he wasn’t around. “That’s a huge weight off my shoulders. I trust you with my team, Keith. Be careful with it. And don’t forget to have fun!”

He could practically feel the weight passing from her shoulders directly to his. “I’ll try my best. See you when you get back, okay?”

“For sure,” she nodded, and Keith turned and all but sprinted back down the hallway.

As soon as he was on the stairs, he let out a deep breath and attempted to slow the rapid thump of his heart in his chest. When he met Shiro at the bottom, he asked Keith if he was feeling well. Touching his still-red face, he merely nodded in response, and he spent the entire walk back to their apartment trying to expel a certain pair of blue eyes from his mind. 

Little did he know that those eyes were already far, far too deeply carved in his memory to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that was something
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading this first chapter! I've got a lot in store for the future, so I hope you're ready for the wildest, gayest ride of your life.
> 
> If you want to talk to me about this fic, voltron, or pretty much anything else, here's [my tumblr](http://panglosian.tumblr.com/)!


	2. The Pointe of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where our dorks dance it out and Lance sticks his foot in his mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long - I had to move back into my dorm and it was v stressful
> 
> I tried my hardest to describe the dancing in this chapter as best I could. I choreographed most of these sequences in my head beforehand, but it's kind of hard to describe a movement, so I wrote it the best way I knew how. I will elaborate later on the tournament's scoring and brackets system, but if you're confused about it now and want to know, feel free to message me on tumblr. I pretty much ALWAYS check, so I'll see it if you send it.
> 
> Also, if you by chance want to make any posts about this fic, use the tag fic: dws OR fic: dance with somebody. I will start to check them regularly, and if you've got thoughts, I want to see them :)

Keith tugged at the fabric of his crop top, which was uncomfortably baggy on him. “I haven’t worn anything like this in a long time.”

Shiro smirked, cracking his knuckles as they rounded a street corner, traversing the city in the dark. “Don’t worry – you look fine.”

Keith worried at his lip as they moved quickly down the city street, dodging cars in intersections and late-night pedestrians on the sidewalk. At this hour, the only people out and about were college kids looking for a good time, dedicated clubbers, shady characters lurking in empty parking lots, and a small collection of stray cats that prowled around street lamps. As they made their way to their destination, Keith caught sight of a few dancers, yelling and throwing empty bottles of alcohol at the sides of buildings. Some of them were covered in bright paint or decked out in crazy prints, conspicuous in the noisy night.

“The dancers who aren’t competing like to have a good time,” Shiro nodded towards the group as they stumbled away, singing some throwback hip-hop song like drunken sailors. “These events, especially the Exhibition, tend to draw a rowdy crowd.”

Keith shivered. Sometimes, he forgot that the entire tournament was technically illegal.

Shiro drew his eyebrows together, clearly noticing Keith’s uncertainty. “Look, don’t be worried, okay? I wouldn’t participate in this kind of thing if it wasn’t one-hundred-percent safe, let alone let _you_ compete. Over the years, we’ve figured out the best ways to keep the tournament hidden.”

“Sorry if I don’t completely trust your ‘ways’,” Keith murmured, rubbing his bare elbows.

Shiro got a faraway look in his eye. “I remember my first tournament. I was so scared that Matt had to literally smack me to get me out of my own head.”

Keith had to smile at that. “I can imagine.”

“He said, ‘Shiro, if you don’t get your head out of your ass, I will not hesitate to kick it into next week.’”

“Sounds like Matt,” Keith veered to the right to avoid bumping into a tired-looking businessman – the last one left in the streets, Keith would bet. “So… where exactly _are_ we headed?”

Shiro kicked a crumpled can with his shoe, sending it flying into the street. “Well, the tournament has a couple of locations to throw off the police and keep noise complaints to a minimum, so tonight we’re headed to the Crag.”

Keith lifted an eyebrow. “The Crag?”

“It’s a seedy old jazz club just off the main stretch,” Shiro explained. “It used to belong to the leader of Team Veranda… or was it Team Gold? I always get them mixed up. Anyway, it’s surrounded by a bunch of empty buildings, so nobody ever ventures out there unless they have a reason.”

“So, no cops?”

“No cops.”

“You’re _sure_?”

Shiro shrugged. “Sure enough.”

Keith frowned at his brother, scrunching his face up sourly, and all Shiro could do was laugh and clap the smaller man on the back. “Don’t sweat it, bro.”

They walked a ways in silence after that, occasionally making dance-related small talk. They left the concentrated city center and came to a district that was mostly warehouses and failed businesses. It was quiet except for the sound of cars. At least, until they rounded a corner and saw the Crag.

The Crag was wedged between a dark, dilapidated building and a storefront with a FOR RENT sign in the window. By the looks of it, the building had been up for rent for a _long_ time. The Crag didn’t look like much from the outside – it didn’t exactly have a neon sign that screamed “Underground Dance Club – No Law Enforcement Allowed!” – but Keith could feel the music thumping for the outside. The windows on the top three floors were all illuminated, and Keith could see crowds of people inside, yelling and singing like they hadn’t a care in the world.

Keith’s entire body seized up, his eyes widening has he had the inexplicable urge to turn around and run in the other direction. He had never felt so far out of his element before, and it terrified him.

Shiro guided his stiff form to the alleyway between the Crag and the adjacent building. He whispered, “Calm down. We’ll be fine.”

As they approached the Crag’s bouncer, Keith did the only thing he could do to negate his nerves: he shook out his limbs, stretching his arms and rolling his ankles. With every trivial movement, his tension disappeared, and suddenly he just felt like any other dancer gearing up for a performance.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all…

“Hey Shiro!” The bouncer beamed, stepping aside to allow them to access the door. “Good to see you again.”

“Time flies,” Shiro laughed. “How was your year? I haven’t seen you since the last tournament.”

“Life is good,” the man shrugged his massive shoulders. “Can’t complain. Now, who’s this? A new recruit for Team Altea?”

“Nah, this is my little brother Keith,” Shiro beamed and slung his arm around Keith, squeezing him. Keith’s cheeks flamed at the recognition. _Seriously,_ he thought, _it’s like I’m still a kid sometimes._ “He’s filling in tonight.”

The man guffawed. “Did Coran finally shatter a hip?”

Shiro frowned, dropping his arm off Keith. “He’s not that old.”

“He’s old as dirt and you know it,” the man retorted. “Still an awesome dancer, though.”

“Keith is filling in for Allura today while she’s out of town,” Shiro explained. “Keith this is Rax, an old buddy of mine. His sister is the leader of one of the competing teams.”

“Nice to meet you Rax,” Keith shook his hand. The man’s palm swallowed his; it was like shaking hands with a baseball mitt.

“Well, have a good time,” Rax opened the door for them, and the decibel level of the music increased exponentially. “I wish I could say I was rooting for you, but I’m cheering on Shay this time.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Shiro shot him a wicked smile as he towed Keith inside – which wasn’t that wicked at all, coming from him.

The first thing Keith noticed was that the Crag had a lot of stairs. A _lot,_ a lot. As Keith and his brother hustled from landing to landing, it seemed there were just more stairs in front of them. If Keith hadn’t been in such good shape from ballet, he wouldn’t have made it all the way to the top without a break.

From what Shiro explained on the way up, there were three levels used for the Exhibition, each with a separate DJ and setup. The bar had been set up on the first level, so that space was generally the calmest. The second level had a constant rotation of rookie DJs from the area who generally spun their own personal sets, so people flocked there to hear the newest up-and coming urban sounds.

The third level was where all the action happened. The Emcee, the single most important person involved in the tournament, spun on that level, and all team challenges occurred there. Keith knew that none of the battles that happened tonight would affect the competition in any way, but he was still nervous. What if he did something wrong? He knew every one of Team Altea’s dances – he even helped with the choreography for a few – but what if that wasn’t enough?

Each level was marked by a massive number on the wall, drawn in glow-in-the-dark paint. They bypassed one and two and made a beeline for three.

The area was packed. Blue and green lights flashed sporadically, bathing the dancing bodies in glowing light. Before he knew it, the Emcee – a lanky man with rainbow hair and bright blue glasses – spotted them and, with a massive smile and a huge wink, leaned over to the mic and said, “Look out, Takashi Shirogane is _in the building_!”

A massive cheer erupted from the crowd, and Keith and Shiro were immediately swarmed by people. The next thing he knew, two shots were being forced into his hand and he was being accosted by voices. As he downed his alcohol, Keith found himself being dragged towards the other end of the room, squeezing between dancers.

As the song changed, Keith heard someone shout, “Shiro! Keith!”

Before he knew what his him, Matt Holt appeared in his line of sight and, beaming from ear-to-ear, wrapped Keith up in a huge hug. “Long time no see, Kogane!”

Keith’s resulting smile was blinding. “Good to see you too, Matt.”

“Keith, my boy!” Coran came from out of nowhere and crushed both him and Matt into one singular, bone-crushing hug. Keith wheezed as Coran continued, “I never thought I’d see the day when you agreed to dance with us! Truly a momentous occasion!”

Coran, an old friend of Allura’s, was by far the oldest member of Team Altea, but he didn’t look nor act his age. He sported an orange crop of hair and an impressive moustache, a blue long-sleeved shirt, leggings, and custom Nikes. Keith didn’t know how he wasn’t dying of heat stroke.

Matt was dressed more appropriately, with a silver t-shirt, shorts, and black shoes. He had ditched his wire-rimmed glasses for contacts, causing him to swipe at his eyes every now and again in an attempt to combat the unfamiliar sensation. He had been Shiro’s friend for as long as Keith could remember – he was a staple even before Keith came along and became part of the Shirogane family.

“We are going to kick major ass tonight, right Keith?” Matt grinned wildly, and Keith could tell he’d had at least four or five shots already. He could hear Shiro muttering something about Matt being officially cut off when he continued, “We need to make Allura proud!”

“Y-Yeah,” Keith scratched the back of his neck and chuckled nervously.

“Keith,” Matt took Keith’s face in his hands and looked him dead in the eye. “I need to kick Galra ass tonight. Do you hear me?”

“Galra?” Keith mumbled as Shiro tore Matt’s hands gently from Keith and put them back at his sides, patting his shoulder. “They’re here?”  
“Of course they are!” Coran stated, and Shiro’s face tightened. “Every competing team has to attend, no matter what.”

Team Galra was a touchy subject for Team Altea, Keith knew that much. Team Altea held the tournament title for four straight years and were the favorites to win last year, but somehow Team Galra snagged first place out from under them. From what Keith could gather, they played dirty. He didn’t know many specifics, though, and Shiro never talked about it.

“I should probably get you familiar with the teams,” Shiro said, changing the subject quickly. “Team Galra, as you know, is currently the favorite to win because they won last year. We came in second, so we’re considered at the top of the bracket.”

“As it should be,” Matt grumbled dejectedly. He reached for another shot when offered, but Coran swatted his hand aggressively.

“From there, it’s pretty much a toss-up,” Shiro said. “The three teams at the bottom are Team Veranda, Team Gold, and Team Rascal. They never usually make it past the first round.”

“I’m pretty sure Team Rascal deals crack on the side,” Matt interjected. “It’s just a theory, though. Please don’t go around talking about it.”

“ _Anyway,_ ” Shiro silence Matt with a look. “From there you have Team Starship, who always dominate in the doubles round. Rolo and Nyma really know how to play the game.”

Shiro gestured across the room to where a sallow-looking guy was dancing across from a striking blonde-haired girl, smiling and laughing as they matched each other’s footwork step for step.

“See those girls over there?” Coran pointed to the leftmost corner of the room, where four girls were huddled around, talking and clinking their bottles in celebration. “That would be Team Balmera. They’re new this year, but they’re expected to do very well.”

“And the last team?” Keith asked.

Matt beamed. “That would be my sib’s group, Team Voltron. We’re all pretty tight, so if you see them around, don’t be a stranger.”

“Are they good?” Keith lifted an eyebrow.

Coran nodded. “They’ve had a hard go of it, but they are exceptional dancers.”

Keith wanted to know more about everything, but as soon as he opened his mouth to ask, someone climbed up to the top of a wall pipe and screeched, “Team Gold challenges Team Altea to a team battle! Emcee, let’s do this!”

_Oh boy,_ Keith thought as he was whisked to the center of the floor. _Here we go._

 

* * *

 

Lance was in the zone.

The Midnight Exhibition was in full swing, and so far no team had approached Team Voltron about a doubles battle. They did, however, partake in two team battles and one singles battle, all of which had Lance’s adrenaline pumping like diesel through his veins. They came out on top of every challenge, and Lance had never felt more alive.

His inhibitions were _gone._ Long, long gone. He was a beacon of excitement and energy as he went toe-to-toe with an exceedingly attractive female dancer, laughing as the song changed and he went with it, his style flowing like water from one sound to the next. He _would_ have liked to impress her with some breaking, but the Crag had a strict no-breaking rule outside of battles. Lance was part of the reason that rule was implemented, thanks to one incident two years back when he backflipped right into a team captain and broker her nose.

Eventually, Lance moved to the bar area of the second level, ordering up another shot while he waited for a better song to come on. The DJ that was on rotation was _okay,_ but if he played any more French house music, Lance was going to tear his hair out.

“There you are!” Pidge shoved their tiny form through the packed crowd and joined Lance at the bar. “Hunk and I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“Sorry, Pidge. Duty called,” Lance shot finger guns at the girl he’d been dancing with in an exceedingly cheesy fashion.

Pidge narrowed their eyes. “I hope ‘duty’ was an awesome doubles dancer, because if not then you’ve effectively wasted our time.”

“Come on, Pidgeon,” Lance knocked back the shot, wincing as the liquid stung his throat. “We’re here to have fun, too!”

“Lance, if we don’t find a doubles partner here, I don’t know if we’ll be able to find one before the tournament starts,” Pidge sighed, ordering up a shot for themself. Another perk of tournament events: no carding. “And that’ll be on you.”

“On me?” Lance exclaimed.

“Yes, on you!” Pidge iterated, tugging at their dark tank top. “We can’t know who clicks with you unless you dance with them.”

“I’ve been dancing with plenty of people!” Lance cried defensively.

“Plenty of pretty girls, more like,” Pidge rolled their eyes. It was unsettling seeing them without their glasses, but like their brother, they never liked to dance with their glasses on.

“Hey, my bisexual ass has been dancing with _plenty_ of pretty boys too,” Lance crossed his arms. “It’s just… none of them have really felt right.”

“Come on, let’s go back upstairs and find Hunk,” Pidge nodded towards the stairwell. “We need a plan of action.”

Lance and Pidge wove their way through the crowd, making their way up the stairs to the third level. By now it was around 1:30 AM, and the Crag was at the height of its capacity. If ever there was a time to look for a doubles partner, it was now.

“Lance!”

Lance turned around and saw Shay making her way towards him, smiling wide and bright. He returned the grin with fervor, gathering her up in a tight hug. “Shay! How are you?”

“I’m incredible,” she pulled back, her face falling from a smile into a frown. “Lance… I needed to tell you myself. I am so, so sorry about leaving the team on such short notice.”

“Shay, it’s fine,” Lance assured her. Shay looked gorgeous tonight, decked out in a sheer silver top and denim shorts that made her dark skin look stunning.

“No, Lance, it’s not,” she stated. “It’s just… The girls told me they needed to start as soon as possible, and they wanted _me_ to be their leader. I couldn’t say no.”

“Shay,” Lance looked at her worried eyes and said, “It’s. Totally. Fine. All we’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. If forming your own team makes you happy, then who am I to stand in your way?”

Shay’s dark eyes shined. “You’re so kind, Lance.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance rolled his eyes playfully. “Just remember to get Hunk those flowers to make up for it.”

“Believe me, I have already,” Shay blushed. “Your recommendation of tiger lilies was an excellent idea.”

“What can I say?” Lance grinned. “I’m good at what I do.”

“Lance, get your pancake ass over here!” Pidge screamed over the crowd.

Lance parted ways with Shay. “Catch you later! If we see you in battle, don’t expect me to go easy on you!”

Shay waved back at him. “Can’t wait.”

Hunk was keeping to himself at the edge of the room, looking highly uncomfortable as he fiddled with his fingertips. When he and Pidge spotted Lance, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God. Team Galra just got done kicking Team Starship’s butt in a doubles battle and I swear, I thought Rolo was going to turn around and challenge _us._ ”

“We’re in trouble, guys,” Pidge interjected. “We’ve got to find a solution _tonight_ , or not at all.”

Lance scratched his chin. “Maybe if we did a battle, we’d attract attention.”

“That might work,” Hunk nodded in agreement. “But… who would we battle?”

Pidge scanned the room, and suddenly their eyes fell on someone and her grin became downright evil. “Hunk, let me get on your shoulders.”

Hunk looked confused, but bent down anyway and let Pidge clamber up onto his back. Once they got their legs securely under Hunk’s armpits, Hunk stood up and Pidge soared above the crowd. Their shifty eyes tracked down their target, and all at once they cupped their hands and yelled, “ _Hey nerd!”_

They were screaming at none other than Matt Holt, active member of Team Altea. Matt’s head snapped up above the writhing crowd, and his face lit up as he shouted something back that Lance couldn’t hear over the thump of the bass.

“Team Voltron challenges Team Altea to a team battle!” Pidge threw their fists in the air as the crowd practically _keened._ “Bring it on, losers!”

The Emcee looked like a kid in the candy store as Pidge scrambled down Hunk’s shoulders and the crowd parted to create a large enough space for them to dance. Lance barely had time to scream “are you crazy” before Hunk was pushing him to the front. As the leader, he was always the front man, whether he was prepared or not.

_Prepared,_ Lance’s breathing calmed down, and as he watched Team Altea round themselves up, he couldn’t help but smile. _I’m always prepared._

Shiro was at the front this time, leading the team in Allura’s absence. Coran was decked in his favorite blue getup, and Matt looked _just_ sober enough to dance. Seeing his friends standing opposite him made him happy – no matter how fierce they were as competitors, they always had a special place in Lance’s heart.

Lance’s eyes scanned the group and fell on the one person who was out of place. Lance could see that he had dark hair and pale skin illuminated by the colored lights, but he didn’t pay him much mind. After all, he was just standing in for Allura – chances were, they would never cross paths again.

“All right dancers, you know the rules!” The Emcee stated exuberantly. “You dance until we have a winner! When the songs change, you change. Take turns, play nice, and all ties are decided with a sudden-death singles battle. Blah, blah, blah – you know the rest. Are you ready, Team Voltron?”

Lance cracked his knuckles. “Always.”

“Team Altea, are you ready?”

Shiro smirked at lance; he had never seen the man look so devilish. “When you are, Emcee.”

The Emcee scratched at his turntables and tapped at his laptop. “Good luck!”

The speakers blared as the laptop procured a general shuffling sound, almost like slot machines at a casino, until Sean Paul’s ‘Temperature’ began pumping low throughout the room. Lance could feel the beat in his bones, counting in and out and quickly assessing which dances would match the song best. His mind was on overdrive as he stared Shiro down.

“Swerve,” Lance said, and at the top of the next eight count they were in.

Hunk and Pidge sprang into action behind him, matching him step for step. He didn’t even need to look back to know that they were perfectly in sync. The dance sequence was full of hits, interrupting interludes of fluid movement. It was very similar to Lance’s usual style, with a little twist of Pidge, who had co-choreographed that particular dance. Lance hit every hit with force, putting all his energy into exaggerating each movement.

When they threw It back to Team Altea, though, they picked up the movement and responded in kind. Their movements had less power and more style, focusing more on aesthetic than exaggeration. Lance could tell that it was one of Allura’s combinations, and _damn_ was it good!

The crowd roared as Team Altea finished, and the song began to change. The Emcee’s transitions were legendary – he could string together completely different songs seamlessly, making it difficult to predict what the next song would be based on the one before it.

When ‘Boom Shake Drop’ came on, Lance knew he had to pull something pretty impressive out of his ass. _Time to get flashy,_ Lance thought, sending out a few prayers while he was at it.

He took a deep breath to prepare him for the following combination and shouted, “Bounce!”

It was the most impressive sequence in their repertoire, and man was it _quick._ Lance practically broke his ankles while he was choreographing it, and it took a long time for them to polish it. He hoped to God that Hunk and Pidge were keeping up behind him as he ducked down and whipped around in a windmill.

Breaking was one of Lance’s strong suits, so when he threw himself eagerly into a headspin, his heart soared at the crowd’s reaction.

This is it. They had it.

Unfortunately, when Lance got out of his spin, Team Altea was already on the move. He could practically see Shiro’s thoughts in his expression: _You want quick? We’ll give you quick._

Team Altea was renowned for their footwork, thanks to Allura whipping their asses into shape. All four members kept up with Shiro’s speed as they launched into an unthinkably rapid series of moves. They were a blur of motion, and when Shiro dropped into the most intense airflare he’d ever seen, Lance heart almost broke.

The crowd roared, and apparently they were still evenly matched. The song dropped away, segueing smoothly. They weren’t out of the woods yet.

When ‘Gasolina’ came on, however, Lance practically vibrated with excitement.

It was rare that Lance choreographed a combination with a particular song in mind, and even rarer when it got played during a battle. Luck seemed to be on his side.

“Strut!” he called out, and he _knew_ they had it in the bag.

The whole sequence required lots of swinging movements and even more whipping heads. It wasn’t as fast as their last combination, but it was always a crowd favorite, mostly because if anyone else had done it, they’d look like idiots. The dance had to be done with no shame in order to work, and judging by the crowd’s reaction, it _worked._

When Lance threw it back to Shiro, his smile was blinding.

He could see Shiro thinking and murmuring to his teammates as they waited for the next verse, and Lance could see him counting down under his breath: five, six, seven, eight.

Team Altea exploded into a flurry of swinging limbs and bucking, throwing all their power into this last sequence. Lance’s jaw dropped as they continued at the same pace for the next few eight counts, never letting up for one second. The crowd was going wild – just as wild as they had been for Team Voltron – and that’s when Lance began to sweat.

As Team Altea came to a halt, the Emcee laughed and leaned into his microphone. “Looks like we have ourselves a tie! You know what that means – Team Voltron, Team Altea, send out your best!”

Lance turned to Hunk and Pidge, mouthing “I’ve got this” before coming out to the center of the clearing. He was nervous – chances are, he would be going up against Shiro, also known as “beefcake crowd-favorite extraordinaire”, and he didn’t know if he liked his chances. _Stay strong, McClain,_ Lance psyched himself up as he watched Shiro move forward to meet Lance in the center.

Then a hand shot out from behind Shiro and stopped him.

Shiro turned around, and the person who stopped him was none other than Mr. Allura’s Stand-In himself. He said something low to Shiro under his breath, and Lance could barely see Shiro’s lips forming the words “Are you sure?” The stand-in responded with a curt nod, and stepped out to meet Lance in the center.

Now, Lance was used to keeping his cool around pretty people. He’d been around the block with many a beautiful face, and he’d like to think he’d seen it all.

Well clearly he hadn’t, because this guy was downright fucking _gorgeous._

His hair was pitch black and feathery, framing a pale face with delicate, fierce features. His eyes were a muddled kind of dark, seemingly indigo in the low light. Lance practically wheezed when he saw how his white Adidas-symbol shirt ended just above his navel, giving Lance a nice view of his defined abs and strong arms. His black leggings didn’t leave much to the imagination, and suddenly Lance became ridiculously jealous of a _pair of pants_ for being able to hug his curves like that.

The worst part was when Lance was hit with a strange sense of déjà vu. Something about this guy was painfully _familiar._

Lance was a weak, weak man, but he had to keep it together. Gathering up all his nerve, his mouth curled into a sly smile and he asked, “Don’t you think it’s a little early to be going toe-to-toe with the big dogs, pretty boy?”

He narrowed his eyes at Lance, the corner of his mouth twitching up into what might have been a smirk. “Tell me when the big dogs get here, then I’ll be scared.”

Lance paled, caught completely off guard at how easily this guy kept up with his quips. Matt cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Kick his ass, Keith!”

_Keith, huh?_ Lance thought as he gave the guy another once-over. _This should be interesting._

In a singles battle it was common courtesy to let the challenged team member go first, so Lance took a step back and waited to see what Keith was all about. Strangely, Lance found himself excited to see what Keith’s particular style was – and exactly how he could beat him.

When the beginning riff of ‘The Next Episode’ came on, Lance mouthed, “Bring it on.”

Keith raised an eyebrow as he counted himself in, and he _brought it._

Lance’s mouth went dry when he realized how hips- and core-oriented Keith’s style was. The song was perfect for long, languid movement, and Keith was adapting accordingly. He seemed to glide as he moved closer to Lance, and all of a sudden Keith was in his face and Lance’s brain short-circuited. He felt all the heat in his body rise to his face as Keith began to dance _around him,_ and when he came back to face Lance, their lips were centimeters apart. Lance could feel Keith’s breath on his lips before he flicked the tip of Lance’s snapback and walked away, the crowd roaring.

Lance couldn’t move. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest. His brain screamed at him to retaliate, and he did.

His body went on autopilot, and before he knew what he was doing he launched into a series of movements not unlike Keith’s, but with more power. He incorporated classic hip-hop moves and crumping, playing up his swagger as much as he could to mask the fact that Keith had shaken him to his core. It wasn’t long until he found himself near Keith again, throwing out some flashy moves in his own peacock-y way. Keith’s eyes widened as Lance kissed his hand and tapped Keith’s cheek, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he walked backwards smugly, twirling his snapback around his other finger.

The crowd went _wild_. In the end neither team seemed to snag a win, and the Emcee was too giddy to declare an official victor. When the crowd converged on him, clapping him on the back and yelling words of praise over the music, Lance’s eyes sought out Keith.

Keith was smiling next to Shiro, who seemed to be gushing like a proud father. His eyes rose to meet Lance’s, and he felt it.

The spark.

“Hey Lance, are you okay?” Pidge tugged on the side of Lance’s shirt as he stared at Keith in a daze.

“Never been better,” Lance breathed, clutching his chest.

 

* * *

 

As soon as he could, Lance hunted down Keith.

It was harder than expected, mostly due to the packed nature of the Crag. By this time in the night, all three levels were full, and there was barely enough room to move. People had resorted to dancing on the bar or sitting on their friends’ shoulders to make room, and it was an absolute madhouse. Somehow, he’d lost sight of Hunk and Pidge, and he ended up searching each level at least three times, scanning the crowd for any sign of Keith.

On the fourth sweep of the second level, Lance groaned and raked his hands through his hair. _God, why is this so_ hard?

When their battle finished, Lance had practically tripped over himself trying to get to Keith, but Shiro whisked him away before Lance could say a word to him. In the impossibly packed space, he lost sight of him, and Lance was beginning to fear that they’d left the building altogether.

“Don’t panic, McClain,” Lance murmured under his breath. “Even if you don’t find him, he still knows Shiro, right? I can just ask him. Unless he’s from out of town and is leaving forever after tonight, and I _might_ have had a chance to stop him and beg him to stay and be on my team, in which case I’m absolutely fu-u-u-u—”

Lance’s rambling trailed off when he spotted a familiar white crop top, its wearer sitting at the bar. Keith tapped his index finger against the side of his bottle, propping one leg against the top rung of his dingy stool. Lance’s heart gave a little lurch, and all the confidence he’d built up until this point completely left him.

Still, he had to say _something_ to the guy.

Lance pushed through the crowd and, just as the song was changing, slid onto the stool next to Keith and ordered himself a drink.

“So,” Lance leaned against the bar, the picture of nonchalance. (At least, he hoped.) “Keith, huh?”

Lance couldn’t be sure, but he could have sworn he saw a dusting of pink across Keith’s cheeks as he took a swig from his beer and traced his eyes over Lance. “And you are?”

“The name’s Lance.” The corner of Lance’s lips quirked up into a smirk. “You know, you’re pretty brave.”

Keith lifted an eyebrow innocently, and Lance nearly had a heart attack. “How so?”

“Not every dancer can just come in here and take the spot like that,” Lance drank from his own bottle. “Bold move.”

“I like bold,” Keith said bluntly, his dark eyes glinting.

“I could tell,” Lance fought the urge to clear his dry throat. So far, he’d kept himself impressively composed. How long that would last, though, he wasn’t exactly sure. “Who taught you to move like that?”

“Shiro gave me the basics, but the rest kind of… happened,” Keith explained. Yeah, he was _definitely_ blushing now.

“Oh, is Shiro a friend of yours?” Lance asked. “That must be how he got you to fill in for Allura.”

“He’s my brother,” Keith said simply.

Lance sputtered, beer dribbling down his chin as he caught his breath. He brought up a hand to wipe the liquid off his face and, eyes blown wide, he exclaimed, “Shiro has a _brother_?”   

Keith recoiled a little from Lance, who was still furiously swiping at his face. “Adoptive.”

“B-But,” Lance flailed his hands, throwing all semblance of composure out the window. “He never said anything about a brother!”

“I… kind of asked him not to talk about me around his dance friends,” Keith said carefully, tracing lines in the condensation on his bottle.

“Why?” Lance inquired, opting to put his drink to the side, just in case his brain decided to do something else stupid. “You’re a really good dancer.”

Keith noticeably seized up. “I don’t exactly do this kind of thing a lot.”

Lance frowned. “What, dance?”

“No,” Keith said, not meeting Lance’s eyes. “Street dance.”

Lance was about to ask him what he meant by that, when suddenly it hit him. _Hard._

Keith’s face. His voice. The way he sat on his stool with his back perfectly straight. His perfect spot when he spun around. The complete control he had over his body.

Lance was thrown headfirst into a flashback. Twelve-year-old Lance, attending what was probably his thousandth ballet class, bored by the choreography but fascinated by the new boy standing in the front line, with dark hair and eyes that seemed to hold all the secrets of the universe.

That same boy followed him throughout his teenage dance career. At every audition, he was there, and he was so damn _good_ that the judges couldn’t look anywhere else. Lance was constantly having his spotlight snatched by a fascinating Asian boy who never spoke a word to anyone but danced like a veritable god.

“Wait…” Lance’s voice was small, but his eyes couldn’t grow any wider. “You… are you _Keith Kogane_?”

Keith looked like he’d been slapped across the face. His face froze, mirroring Lance’s in its confusion. “H-How do you know that?”

“You…” Lance searched his face for any sign of recognition, but was only met with a blank stare. “You don’t remember me?”

Keith drew his eyebrows together. “Should I?”

“We danced together for, like, four years!” Lance exclaimed, flailing his arms wildly. “We auditioned for all the same companies! We even competed for the same roles!”

“You’re a ballet dancer?” Keith whispered incredulously.

“Well, not anymore,” Lance grumbled, chest aching a little as he drew his gaze away from Keith’s.

When he looked up again, that’s when he saw it: a flash of recognition in Keith’s eyes. “Lance McClain.”

Lance crossed his arms and scrunched up his face petulantly. “Oh, so _now_ you remember?”

“You dropped out,” Keith was looking at Lance like he was a ghost. “You’re practically a legend.”

Lance smiled, hoping it masked the turmoil of emotions in his mind. “Well, when you put it that way –”

“ _Not_ in a good way,” Keith narrowed his eyes. “Do you know how many people you upset when you left? You threw away a promising career for… for what?”

Lance gritted his teeth, staring daggers at Keith as he fought the bile that rose in the back of his throat. Memories of his last few months in the ballet community forced themselves up from the back of his mind: the fear, the stress, the uncertainty… the bone-crushing, soul-sucking sadness that just wouldn’t go away. All the while, nobody cared about what he was going through. Nobody saw him as anything but a strong body and a perfect turnout.   

Doing a poor job of quelling his anger, Lance spat, “That’s none of your damn business. You don’t know _anything_ about me.”

“Oh, calm down,” Keith sneered, downing the last of his drink and slamming his bottle on the bar. “I guess I’m just wondering why someone who’s never worked hard for a part in their life would suddenly up and _quit._ ”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Lance cried indignantly.

“You know what it means,” Keith growled. Lance hadn’t noticed how close they’d gotten, but they ended up right in each other’s faces. A few minutes ago, Lance would have been flustered, but other emotions were blinding him now. “So what was it, huh? Too much pressure, being so perfect all the time?”

“Shut up!” Lance barked. “I don’t need to be chewed out by some hot-shot ballet dancer who doesn’t know _shit_ about my life, and doesn’t give a _shit_ about anyone but himself.”

He saw Keith’s angry expression falter, but he kept on going. “Yeah, don’t think I don’t know all about you, Kogane. No parents, and I guess you don’t have any sympathy either. Well you know what? I don’t give a damn what your orphaned ass thinks of me and my decisions! _You don’t know anything._ ”

By the time he was done, he was breathing heavily from yelling. His heart was pounding heavy in his ears, and the anger that had flooded his system was beginning to ebb away. Keith’s eyes, however, still burned with vitriol, and Lance wasn’t at all surprised when he hopped down from his stool.

“Go fuck yourself, McClain,” Keith growled, and with that he disappeared into the crowd of dancers.

Lance watched him go and, having spent all his anger, felt his stomach drop. Every inch of his being wanted to go after him and apologize, to take back everything he said, but it was too late. Sure, Keith had been just as spiteful as he had, but Lance had brought up his _dead parents._ That was uncool on so many levels, but no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find Keith’s face again in the crowd.

Lance had made a terrible mistake, and for once he didn’t know how to fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The method of calling out a one-word code for a pre-choreographed combination came from my dance team days *stares into the distance wistfully* good times, man, good times
> 
> ps: thanks for sticking around for chapter 2 of my shitty fic
> 
> the next chapter contains lots of ballet, so hang onto your hats ladies and germs
> 
> [my tumblr](http://panglosian.tumblr.com/)


	3. Step by Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Keith dances and Lance doesn't know what to do about it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys this has been the week from hell. There was a bomb threat at my dorm hall that put us on lockdown for hours, and last night some guy on my hall forgot to put water in his easy mac. His microwave caught fire and set off the alarms at 2AM and I wanted to die.
> 
> I spent SO LONG on this chapter. It took me forever to get the creative juices flowing and a lot of nagging on the part of my friends. Also I don't know what the hell I was thinking when I made Keith's production Giselle. I didn't know anything about the show and I had to do a lot of extra research to figure shit out. You're welcome~

_“Fuck you Cho Chang!”_  Pidge cried, throwing a few kernels of popcorn at the TV screen.

Sunday night was official movie night for Team Voltron, and since it was Hunk’s turn to choose the movies, he chose the one movie that Pidge couldn’t stand: _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix._ Naturally, the decision had led to two straight hours of Pidge’s cynical commentary and general hatred of Harry’s whiny angst, which usually led to some lighthearted debate and magic-related puns. Lance would usually jump on a chance to defend his precious wizards, and on nights like this he generally liked to voice his opinions by upending the popcorn bowl on Pidge’s head, inciting World War IV in their living room.

If it had been any other Sunday, Lance would have been having fun. Instead, though, he was wrapped up in a snuggie, a plush blanket, and a Cuban flag-print throw, wallowing in his own self-pity.

It had been three days since the Exhibition, and all Lance could think about was Keith. Lance couldn’t get him out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried – his stupid, beautiful face haunted his dreams at least once a night, and it was starting to become an issue. Lance had tried everything, but no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that Keith _definitely_ had a mullet, he found that he didn’t care. All he wanted was to duo with that mullet, which brought him right back to his original problem: he blew it with Keith. _Big time._

Rinse, repeat.

When Hunk and Pidge found Lance and dragged the story out of him, they tried their best to cheer him up. For the first day or two, they respected his need for space and let him sulk in peace. Three days, however, was pushing it, and Lance could see his friends becoming increasingly irritated.

_Great,_ Lance sunk deeper into his blanket burrito. _More people that think I’m annoying._

Just as Harry and the gang were running their way through the Department of Mysteries, Pidge threw Lance a sidelong glance. “Hey Lance.”

“Hmph…” Lance grumbled, tipping over like a sack of potatoes.

“The Death Eaters are about to come.”

Lance blew a strand of hair out of his face. “Ugh.”

Pidge narrowed their eyes at him. “Sirius is about to _die._ ”

Lance groaned once again. “So?”

Pidge cried indignantly, and when they threw their hands in the air, the popcorn bowl went with them, sending kernels flying in every direction. Hunk jumped up and yelled, “Pidge, what the heck?”

“No, the real thing we should be asking is: _what the fuck, Lance_?” Pidge groaned, hopping up from their seat and stomping over to Lance, popcorn kernels crunching under their feet.

Pidge’s little demon hands clutched at Lance and hauled him up from the floor, forcibly sitting him on the couch near Hunk. Damn, he forgot how strong they could be when they really tried. “Ow, Pidge, quit it – !”

“Lance,” Pidge silenced him with a glare, but this time it wasn’t judgmental or irritated. No, Pidge looked downright _concerned._ “This is getting out of hand.”

Lance angrily fixed the sleeve of his blue snuggie, rewrapping himself in the blankets. “Just drop it, Pidge.”

“No way, dorkazord,” Pidge crossed their arms stubbornly. “We need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Lance grumbled, sinking down into the blankets like a turtle retracting into their shell.

“Yes there is,” Pidge said, just as Hunk whined, “Guys Sirius just _died_ and you missed it.”

“Look, just get off my case, okay?” Lance said defensively.

“I will do no such thing,” Pidge huffed. “Hunk, pause them movie! We’re doing this right here, right now!”

“Pidge, do you _have_ to have an intervention in the middle of movie night?” Hunk moaned, pausing the movie reluctantly. “We still have to watch _Pacific Rim,_ and you are _not_ allowed to fall asleep.”

“Yes, Hunk,” Pidge sighed, turning back to Lance. “Lance, I know you’re upset about the whole Keith situation, but this is not a healthy way to deal with it. You called out from work on Friday and slept all day, and you ate all the rocky road we had in the freezer. You haven’t so much as stretched in days.”

“Hey, I’ve stretched!” Lance squawked.

Pidge let out a tiny puff of exasperated air. “Allura called. You skipped your lesson?”

Lance froze, and he swore his heart legitimately skipped a beat. How was he supposed to talk himself out of this one? How could he tell Pidge that he couldn’t do ballet because Keith dug up all those old feelings from the darkest part of Lance’s heart? That was his burden to bear, and he’d done a damn good job convincing Hunk and Pidge that he was past all that.

In truth, he’d never gotten past it, and he didn’t think he ever would.

Lance sighed, shifting a bit so that he could look Pidge in the eyes. “It’s…complicated.”

Pidge frowned. “Lance, I know that dancing has been hard for you these past few years, _especially_ ballet, but you can’t let this get you down.”

“Yeah, man,” Hunk put a supportive hand on Lance’s shoulder. “You were in a really dark place for a long time, and I’m not going to let you go back there.”

Lance pouted, but was touched by his friends’ concern. They had been his greatest allies during the single shittiest moment of his life, and he would never be able to repay them for that. “It’s just hard, guys. I _know_ what I said to Keith was really fucked up, and I’ve spent the last three days replaying that moment in my mind, wishing I had done things differently. I don’t even know why I said it… he was just talking about me like I quit ballet because I was bored or lazy. H-He didn’t even know. He didn’t even sound like he _wanted_ to know.”

“Hey,” Pidge poked his arm. “Nobody has to know if you don’t want them to.”

Lance nodded, chewing at his bottom lip. “I know. I just want to apologize to him. I don’t even care whether he dances with us or not, I just want him to know that I’m not a shitty human being who gets off on his pain.”

Pidge scanned Lance’s face for a moment, likely looking for any signs of insincerity. When they found none, they snorted and asked, “You really want to apologize?”

Lance drew his lips into a hard line. “Yeah, I do.”

Pidge swiped Lance’s phone from the side table and tossed it into his nest of blankets. “Call Shiro. If anyone will know what to do, it’s him. Now get your ass in gear.”

Lance stared the black phone screen for a few long seconds before nodding in agreement. He detangled himself from the blankets and, leaving the snuggie on, made his way towards his bedroom. Once he was away from Pidge and Hunk, he pressed the call button next to Shiro’s name.

The phone rang twice, then Shiro picked up. _“Hello?”_

“Hi Shiro, it’s Lance,” Lance greeted.

_“Oh, hey Lance!”_ Shiro said brightly. _“What’s up?”_

“I need your help with something,” Lance got to the point.

_“What’s the deal?”_ Shiro hummed.

“I kind of fucked up,” Lance admitted, scratching the back of his neck reflexively. “I need your help to make it right.”

Shiro paused thoughtfully for a moment, and the silence was beginning to make Lance nervous. When he finally responded, he inquired quietly, _“Is this about Keith.”_

Lance instantly deflated. “Yeah, it is.”

Shiro sighed into the speaker. _“When we left the Exhibition, he was really upset. I didn’t realize… was that because of you?”_

“It was kind of a two-way argument, but yeah, it was because of me,” Lance tensed up. Had Keith really been _that_ upset? “Shiro, your brother is really talented. I wanted him as my doubles partner, but I stuck my foot in my mouth. Again.”

_“You wanted_ Keith _to duo with you?”_ Shiro sounded absolutely bewildered.

“I felt it, Shiro. There was something there when we danced. You don’t just choose who you have those kinds of connections with.”

_“You’re not wrong,”_ Shiro agreed. _“And I’m not shocked that you two butted heads. Keith can be almost as difficult as you sometimes.”_

“Hey!”

_“Sorry, Lance, but it’s the truth,”_ Shiro said coolly. _“So, you want my little brother for Team Voltron, huh?”_

“Well yeah, I did,” Lance replied, then quickly amended his statement. “I-I still do. It’s just… right now, I just want to apologize to him.”

_“Lance, are you free on Thursday?”_

The question came suddenly, and Lance was taken aback. “Uh… yeah, why?”

_“If you’re going to dance with Keith, you’ve got to understand him,”_ Shiro explained. _“To make things right, you’ve got to know exactly how to apologize to him. I can show you, but you have to trust me.”_

Lance narrowed his eyes warily. “You’re not luring me into a sneaky death trap to avenge your brother’s feelings, are you?”

Shiro laughed at that, and the sound made Lance’s heart swell, counteracting the anxious feeling that had crept up on him. What did he do to deserve such awesome friends? _“Nothing like that, no.”_

“Okay, just text me where to meet you and I’ll be there.”

_“Sure. And Lance?”_

Lance blinked. “Yeah?”

_“You’re a really good kid.”_ And with that, he hung up, leaving Lance blinking bewilderedly at the screen.

 

* * *

 

Lance tugged at the sleeves of his blue blazer as he made his way towards his destination. Shiro had texted him the exact address not long their conversation ended, and asked him specifically to dress nice. Lance wasn’t sure what Shiro had planned exactly, but he never passed up an excuse to rock semiformal fashion, even when it was seventy-eight degrees and sunny.

After he finished talking to Shiro a few days ago, Lance rejoined Pidge and Hunk to finish up movie night, and he had to admit: he’d felt better. That night, when he slipped into bed, he tried to think of different ways to go about apologizing to Keith. If he was going to be given another chance, he wasn’t going to blow it.

As he stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, he couldn’t help but recall every moment he’d spent around Keith. Lance had grown up in a suburb of the city, so when he began to take dance seriously, he got most of his roles in metropolitan companies and theaters. He encountered a lot of the same people throughout his career, and he _knew_ when someone new came along.

Keith didn’t become a staple in Lance’s dance life until he turned twelve. When Keith began attending the same classes as Lance, he began to notice the boy more and more for his raw talent and affinity for keeping to himself. He never really made many friends, despite being in a close-knit dance community. Lance found out later through the grapevine that Keith was an orphan who had been adopted by a local family, and was practically rocketing up to adolescent stardom in the city.

He remembered that they both joined the same ballet company at fifteen, and they both got offers early. For a long time, they competed for roles and were constantly neck-in-neck in terms of talent. If the production required a dancer with perfect skill, they casted Keith. If they needed a dancer with charisma and flow, they casted Lance. It was a year-and-a-half-long rivalry, and they were evenly matched through and through.

Then Lance left ballet, and Keith became the city’s sole rising star. Apparently over the past four years, he’d done well for himself.

Lance didn’t know how he felt about that.

He walked down the long stretch of sidewalk, avoiding pedestrians skillfully. After all these years, he’d become an expert at people-dodging. He glanced down at the address on his phone, eyes snapping up occasionally to check where he was. He was in the dance district, that much was certain, but he hadn’t walked this stretch in a long time.

When he came to his destination, he stopped dead in his tracks and _stared,_ breath catching in his lungs.

Looming above him was the Arus Theater in all its glory, the matinee practically glowing in the afternoon light. Lance could practically see his fifteen-year-old self walking through the doors to dress rehearsal. He could remember hanging around the old building after a performance, chatting with his friends about their aspirations for the future. He remembered the pain of performing being masked completely by the soaring sensation in his heart every time he stepped onstage. His aching feet didn’t matter. His anxiety was gone. It was just him and the spotlight.

Seeing it made Lance’s chest tighten dangerously, and he could feel a lump begin to slowly form in the back of his throat.

He hadn’t been back to the theater since the accident.

Shiro was inside, scrolling through his phone with his flesh hand. He was wearing a nice shirt and slacks, and he looked like a Ralph Lauren model. Shiro could wear a giant paper bag and still look like a god, and though Lance had moved past being insecure around him, he was still envious of his chiseled physique. He pushed through the doors of the theater, smothering his unease, and when Shiro saw him he smiled, his scar moving with him when he grinned.

“Good to see you, buddy,” Shiro said, clapping him on the back.

“Out of all the places I thought you’d bring me, this was _not_ one of them,” Lance looked around skeptically, remembering each and every inch of the theater. “Why are we here?”

Shiro handed him a ticket and said, “We’re seeing _Giselle._ ”

Lance scrunched up his face as he looked at the ticket in his hands. “Shiro, you know I haven’t been to a ballet since I left.”

Shiro’s eyes glinted sadly as he regarded his friend. Lance couldn’t tear his eyes off the rightmost wall – there used to be a trash can covering a huge hole in the wall. He and his friends got too rowdy once and one of his friends kicked a hole straight through the drywall. It was fixed now, and not only that, but the walls were painted red instead of blue.

_It really has been a long time,_ Lance thought in awe.

“I thought you’d like to see this one,” Shiro replied, steering him towards the theater doors before he could protest. A lady shoved a playbill into his hand, and soon they were surrounded by the sights and sounds of the ballet.

Lance’s heart twisted in his chest when he saw the inside of the Arus Theater. Now _this_ was exactly as he remembered it: velvet seats situated in cascading rows, ornate pillars holding up the different levels, huge curtains framing the glowing proscenium… it was like coming home after a long journey. It made him happy and sad and terrified all at once, and suddenly Lance felt like he was going to be sick.

“Hey, are you okay?” Shiro knit his eyebrows together.

“It’s been so long,” Lance sighed longingly as a couple moved past them towards their seats, shooting Lance strange glances.

“Come on, let’s get to our seats,” Lance felt the ghost of Shiro’s fingertips guiding him by the small of his back towards the middle of the theater.

As Shiro and Lance slid into their seats, making themselves comfortable in the crowd of onlookers, Lance couldn’t stop the flood of memories. His parents brought him and his siblings to the ballet all the time when they were younger. Lance, who had a general distaste for sports as a child, felt like he finally belonged somewhere. He was enthralled by everything the stage had to offer, and begged his parents to enroll him in ballet class as soon as possible. What resulted was a lifelong love for the art, and a young, lucrative career. 

A few minutes before the show was due to start, Lance cracked open the playbill and skimmed the names and advertisements inside. Some of the dancer’s names were familiar, and Lance found himself wondering, had he stayed in ballet, would he be in this same production with all these people from his past? Probably.

He was so busy reminiscing that he almost missed one very, very familiar name next to “Albrecht”.

Lance’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he gaped, poking at the page. “Shiro, explain.”

In the middle of the first page of cast photos was a professional photo of none other than Keith Kogane. Lance’s breath caught in his throat when he saw just how well the photographer captured the light bouncing off his dark eyes. He was _smiling_ too, much in the same way he was smiling at Lance at the Exhibition. He smiled like they shared a secret.

Shiro looked at him out of the corner of his eye and gave a sly, knowing smile. “You said you wanted to apologize to Keith, right?”

Lance blinked. “Right.”

“Well, in order to do that, you have to understand how important dance is to him,” Shiro explained. “Keith told me what you said to him, and it sounds like you two really have a disconnect. If you ever want a hope of dancing with Keith, or even being friends with him, you need to start understanding him. And vice versa.”

“How am I supposed to do that by just watching him?” Lance huffed.

“Just watch,” Shiro said.

Before Lance could say anything else, the lights were dimming. Lance’s heart pounded as he waited for the curtain rose. When it did, the set wasn’t exactly traditional. Lance had been in Giselle once before, and he remembered the stage being full of hokey German costumes, cottages, and painted scenery. This look was more industrial, with an intense sense of grayness. When the dancers came onstage, they were dressed in a minimalistic way, with basic colors like blacks and whites. Some of the men didn’t wear shirts, and only a few of the girls wore skirts of any kind.

_Huh,_ Lance thought. _Contemporary ballet, huh? So that’s what Keith’s into these days._

When Keith came onstage, Lance felt his pulse quicken. He was dressed in a tight red shirt, starkly contrasting against the people around him. He wore black leggings, not the traditional ballerina tights, and his hair was back in a tiny ponytail.

Now, Lance was familiar with _Giselle._ Actually, every ballet dancer was probably familiar with _Giselle._ It was a staple in ballet culture, steeped in tradition. Albrecht was typically portrayed as the cocky, happy-go-lucky sort of guy who cooks up a plan to win over his true love. Giselle, the doe-eyed, girl-next-door type of girl, used to piss Lance off to no end. “She’s only interesting _after_ she dies,” he used to complain to his friends whenever they talked about the show.    

As soon as the production began, though, Lance knew this one was different. Albrecht’s pining was more of a soulful longing, and whoever the girl was who played Giselle put a lot of power behind her moves. She wasn’t docile like the usual Giselle. She was dressed in blue, complementing Keith’s outfit nicely, and every time they touched Lance could see their incredible stage chemistry.

_Does this guy have chemistry with_ everyone? Lance couldn’t help but think.

Lance could see the emotion in Keith’s face whenever he moved. He flew with ease, like he was born to dance on a stage in front of hundreds of people. Lance found that he couldn’t take his eyes off him. His gaze followed Keith around the stage, and Lance hadn’t felt so enthralled by a performance since he was a little kid, sitting in the audience watching his first few productions.

When Hilarion was introduced, the tension between he and Albrecht was palpable. He was dressed in yellow, completing the set of primary colors between the main trio. He saw a flash of scorn in Keith’s eyes whenever he came onstage to address Giselle, and Lance couldn’t help but think of that night at the Exhibition. That same scorn was directed at Lance not that long ago.

At intermission, Lance and Shiro got up to stretch. As they rolled the kinks out of their muscles, Shiro talked.

“Ballet is everything to Keith,” he stated. “When we took Keith in, he had no constructive way to let out his emotions, and he was always getting into trouble. Sports made him too aggressive, so dance seemed like the only other option. After my parents put him through lessons, he did a full one eighty, and suddenly he had something to look forward to every day.”

“That’s pretty sad,” Lance admitted. “But that doesn’t excuse how he talked to me.”

“It doesn’t, but I know my brother better than anyone,” Shiro said. “Keith throws everything he has into ballet, and when he sees you, he sees a mystery. He sees someone who had talent, and had worked hard to get where they are, throw it all away with no explanation.”

“Why would he hate me for that?” Lance exclaimed, only to be shushed by an old lady behind them.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Shiro sighed. “He’s scared of you.”

“Scared?” Lance recoiled, blinking wildly at Shiro. “Of me?”

“Not scared of you, per se, but scared of what you did,” Shiro elaborated as they both sat back down. “Keith is an amazing dancer in pretty much all areas. I can tell that he wants to branch out and try new things, but he’s terrified of instability. It took me a year to even get him to _learn_ street dance.”

“So… you’re saying that Keith doesn’t like me because he’s scared I’ll drag him to the dark side?” Lance laughed aloud at that.

“I guess that’s part of it,” Shiro said tentatively as the lights blinked, signifying the end of intermission. “To be honest, I think you could be good for Keith. The kid needs to learn how to live a little.”

“Well, you know I’m the king of living life to the fullest,” Lance smirked, looking back towards the stage as the lights dimmed once again.

The second half of Giselle was always the most interesting to Lance. There’s just something about dead people that made the show more watchable. Giselle, now decked out in a white leotard with a gossamer skirt, danced ephemerally under the dim stage lights. When Keith entered, he had donned a black long-sleeved shirt, and was holding white flowers to lay at Giselle’s grave.

When they started to dance together, Lance could see it.

He saw pain and longing in Keith’s eyes that couldn’t possibly be faked. With every delicate movement and phenomenal lift, Lance could feel his heart aching. He hadn’t felt this emotional during a ballet since… well, since he was the one performing the part himself. 

When Albrecht’s solo came up, Lance didn’t quite know what to expect. When Keith took his position in the back corner, the entire audience seemed to hold their breath.

When he began to dance, he _sailed._ Lance was awestruck as he watched Keith fly through the impossible variation with ease, and Lance could say with complete certainty that it was one of the hardest combinations he’s ever seen onstage. He couldn’t attempt anything near that skill level, not even when he was training full-time. He had to admit, Keith had talent.

As the second act wound down to the final scene, Lance found himself wanting to see more. When Keith held Giselle’s hand over her grave and sank to his knees, Lance could feel tears prickling at the backs of his eyes.  

Here was a boy who had known nothing but loss in his life. Here was a boy who was so afraid of change that he was willing to remain stagnant for the rest of his life.

Lance couldn’t have that.

When the curtain closed and the light came up, Lance almost didn’t notice. He was too busy gaping at the stage, unable to formulate a single coherent thought.

Shiro laughed at him. “That great, huh?”  
“Shiro, I need your brother to dance with me,” Lance wheezed pathetically. “I have to apologize.”

“Well, if you want to do it now, he’ll be coming out soon to –”

_“No!”_ Lance exclaimed loudly, shocking Shiro into silence. “N-No, I want to do it when we’re alone.”

That was half true. What Lance didn’t tell Shiro was that seeing Keith all sweaty in tight clothing and a ponytail was much more than his heart could currently handle.

“Okay, well, if you want to get him alone, I know exactly where you need to go,” Shiro said. “He spends every Saturday afternoon at my shop while I’m at practice with Allura. If you want to corner him, do it there.”

Lance nodded. When Shiro wasn’t being an all-around dancing badass, he owned his own auto repair at the edge of the city. Lance hung out there sometimes when Shiro was working on a particularly boring project and needed company, but he’d never seen Keith there before.

As they got up to leave, lance tugged at the sleeves of his blazer uneasily. “Do you think he’ll still be mad at me?”

Shiro scoffed. “Of course I do. But you’re Lance McClain – if anyone can talk their way out of a bad situation, it’s you.”

 

* * *

 

When Lance walked up to Shirogane Automotive, he had half a mind to turn and walk right back in the other direction.

_No way,_ Lance thought, clenching his fists. _You’re here, now you’re going to go talk to him whether you want to or not._

Shirogane Automotive was a little shop on a corner, surrounded by a parking lot full of cars that hadn’t yet been gutted and worked on. To combat the heat, the garage doors were thrown open, allowing air into the part of the garage that wasn’t temperature controlled. Lance couldn’t see any movement inside the garage, which either meant that a) Keith wasn’t there at all, or b) Keith was in the main shop area and would see Lance as soon as he walked in, giving him no chance to turn back.

When Lance pushed into the shop, the first thing he noticed was the blast of cool air that made him shiver.

The second thing he noticed was that ‘No Scrubs’ by TLC was playing over the speakers, which seemed to say, “Fuck you, Lance! Sincerely, the universe.”

The next “fuck you” came in the form of Keith, sweaty and smudged with grease, wiping his face with the end of his black tank top just as Lance walked in, causing Lance to have a miniature internal meltdown.

As the tiny Lances in Lance’s head began throwing tiny buckets of water on his brain to cool it down, Keith caught his eye and glared, nostril’s flaring.

Lance took a deep breath. “Look, Keith, I just wanted to –”

“Nope.”

Lance blinked at the sudden interjection. “I just wanted to –”

_“Nope,”_ he repeated, a little more forcibly.

Lance growled, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Dude, let me just –”

At that, Keith turned up the volume dial on the speakers, and Lance’s next words were all but drowned out by TLC.

_No, I don’t want no scrubs_

_A scrub is a guy that can’t get no love from me_

“Would you turn that down?” Lance exclaimed as Keith leaned over the counter, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

_Hangin’ out the passenger’s side of his best friend’s ride_

_Tryin’ to holla at me_

“If you would stop being a child for _one second._ ”

_A scrub’s checkin’ me but his game is kinda weak_

_And I know that he cannot approach me_

When Keith quirked an eyebrow at Lance, who was getting red in the face at this point, Lance snapped and launched himself over the counter, quietly thanking God that he decided to run hurdles for a year in high school.

_‘Cause I’m looking like class while he’s looking like trash_

_Can’t get with a deadbeat ass_

Keith made a move to block Lance, but his hand was already on the nob, turning it all the way down until the music was gone, crossing his arms defensively.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Keith shouted, shoving Lance away. Or, tried to shove, at least. Lance stood his ground firmly.

“If you would just let me talk for two seconds, you’d see that I was trying to apologize, you jerk!” Lance snapped back.

This made Keith shut up. He just stared at Lance like he’s grown a second head. “You… what?”

“I came here,” Lance breathed, “to apologize.”

Keith blinked, and as the anger in his face became replaced by confusion, Lance couldn’t help but notice how completely adorable he was when he didn’t know what was going on. Lance’s eyes flickered down to his little pouty lips and he just about _died._

“How did you even know I would be here?” Keith inquired.

“Shiro told me,” Lance elaborated, and he heard Keith curse under his breath. “Look, he’s just looking out for your best interest, okay? After the performance he told me about how you –”

“Performance?” All the color drained from Keith’s face. “What performance?”

Lance felt heat rushing up to his face as he stammered, “W-Well, your brother kind of took me to see your performance on Thursday.”

“He… he didn’t even ask me!” Keith sputtered indignantly. “Why wouldn’t he… why would he just…?”

“Whoa, boy, calm down,” Lance held up his hands placatingly. “He just wanted to help me out with my apology.”

Keith’s eyes snapped up to meet Lance’s, and suddenly Lance felt like he was drowning. “Did it?”

Lance gulped. “Did it what?”

“Did seeing me dance help with your apology,” Keith inquired.

Lance’s gaze softened when he saw how skittish Keith was being. It seemed like Keith was about as nervous as Lance was about the whole thing. “It helped a lot.”

There was a long pause where they just looked at each other, neither one making a move to speak. Lance had to smother the urge to reach out and wipe a grease smudge off Keith’s face. His heart was still beating much too fast, but there wasn’t much else to do at that point but roll with it.

“Well,” Keith nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Oh, so you’re going to _let_ me this time?” Lance sneered.

Keith crossed his arms. “I will kick your sorry ass right out of here, McClain.”

“Okay, okay, sorry!” Lance squawked.

“You’re really terrible at this, you know that?” Keith drew his lips into a hard line as he regarded the other man.

Lance heaved a long sigh and leaned up against the counter, mentally preparing himself to speak. When he did, he hoped that he sounded as sincere as he felt.

“Shiro told me about why you got into ballet,” Lance began, and he could see Keith building a mental brick wall as he spoke. “And when I saw you dance, I knew he was telling the truth. You build walls, not bridges – you’re doing it right now, I can see it. Instead of branching into new things, you hole yourself up in a corner. And you have a really good reason for doing that, I’m not saying you don’t. Just… hear me out for a second.

“I know that your feelings about me, and about street dancing in general, come from a place of fear. I represent everything you’re too scared to do. You’re scared that loving street dance means you can’t love ballet. You’re scared that by trying new things, your life will become an unstable mess again. I get that, really I do, but you… you have a choice, Keith.”

Lance bit his lip, nervousness clouding his mind as he continued, “When I quit ballet, I _had_ to. I mentally and emotionally couldn’t stay. I didn’t have a choice. Even if I decided to stay, I wouldn’t have been the same dancer. I didn’t leave ballet for street dance, street dance saved me during the lowest point of my entire life.

“I guess what I’m really trying to say is that street dance shouldn’t be something you’re scared of. Even though I cut ties with ballet, I still take classes every week with Allura to keep my hand in it. Even though it causes me pain every time I do ballet, I can’t just _not_ do it, you know? So… just don’t let the fear keep you chained down, okay? I would hate to see that happen to you.”

When he finished, Lance wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. He hadn’t meant to open the floodgate, but once he got to talking he just couldn’t stop. As Keith stared at him incredulously, speechless in the wake of his tangent, Lance couldn’t even look him in the eye. He kept his eyes trained on the floor as he waited for the other man’s response.

“Can I show you something?” Keith blurted out.

Lance’s head snapped up, adding confusion to the cacophony of emotions tumbling around in his brain. “Um… sure?”

Keith went through the door to the garage, and without a word Lance followed him. The inside of the garage was in a state of organized chaos. Tools laid haphazardly on tables, parts sat collecting dust in corners beside wheels and other miscellaneous vehicle components. Both automatic lifts had cars on them, one with a minivan on top of it and one with a Prius.

When they came to the back of the garage, a little space had been carved out around a red motorbike. The sides were opened to reveal all the inner workings, and parts were scattered around it, smudged with dirt and grease. Lance didn’t know much about cars, or bikes for that matter, but it didn’t take an expert to know that the bike was really, _really_ nice. Somebody took very good care of it, that much was certain.

“Whoa,” Lance whistled, admitting the bike. “That’s one hell of a ride.”

“It’s mine,” Keith had the ghost of a smile on his face.

Lance’s eyes popped open. “No way.”

Keith nodded proudly. “My mom used to restore old bikes, and I used to watch her all the time when she worked.”

“Wow, I didn’t know Mrs. Shirogane was into mechanics,” Lance chuckled. “Guess it runs in the family, huh?”

Keith sighed wistfully. “I was talking about my birth mother.”

The laugh instantly died in Lance’s throat. He cleared his throat and managed to say, “Oh.”

“My life has been nothing but one giant kick in the teeth so far,” Keith’s face fell. There was nothing bitter in the way he talked. He just seemed… tired. “The Shiroganes, ballet – they’re the best things I have in my life right now.” He turned towards Lance, his eyes questioning. “I’m sorry too, you know.”

Lance could do nothing but stare. “Wow. Uh… cool.”

Keith lifted an eyebrow. “Cool?”

“Well, my apology was _definitely_ more heartfelt,” Lance scoffed as he ran a hand through his hair, allowing a light smile to grace his face. “I beat you on that front, mullet.”

“I didn’t know it was a competition,” Keith rolled his eyes, but Lance sensed no malice in the action.

“Actually, speaking of competition, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Lance went back to the nervous chuckling. _Great segue, McClain,_ he thought, mentally kicking himself.

“Yeah?” Keith’s tone prompted him to go on.

“I don’t know if your brother mentioned it at all, but one of our team members kind of bailed on us,” Lance scratched the back of his neck, playing with the hairs at his nape habitually. “I was going to ask you at the Exhibition, but I didn’t really… get the chance.”

“Where are you going with this, McClain?” Keith inquired, narrowing his eyes.

“I was wondering,” Lance said. “If you wanted to, you know, branch out, would you want to do it with us? As a team?”

Keith was silent for a moment, and Lance didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “You want me to join Team Voltron?”

Lance gulped. “Basically, yes.”

“And you wanted to ask me at the bar that night, but you insulted me instead?”

“Uh, yes, that is also true,” Lance nodded, feeling more self-conscious than ever.

Then, Keith did something truly shocking: he _laughed._ “You’re something else, Lance.”

“I try,” Lance couldn’t help but smile. “So, what do you think?”

Keith looked away from Lance, regarding the wall intently as he thought. Lance’s eyes traced the sharp angle of his jawline, down the soft curve of his neck before settling on a long, white scar that marred the skin of his left arm. Lance winced internally, thinking: _Wow, that must have hurt._ Lance could only wonder what Keith had done to himself to warrant such a mark.

“Why did you leave ballet?” Keith asked quietly.

Lance’s stomach dropped. Well, wasn’t that the million-dollar question?

Setting his face into a neutral expression to hide the pain that rocketed through his chest, Lance replied. “You’re not the only one who’s lost things, Keith.”

As Keith’s eyes wandered over Lance’s face, he tried his best to keep himself composed. His pulse roared in his ears, and he felt the familiar prickle of ice in the base of his gut. The frost slowly crept up and up until it was coating the insides of his lungs, and suddenly breathing became difficult. It was a feeling he was used to by now, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant. Suddenly he was sixteen-year-old Lance again, drowning in his own body with nobody to lift him out of the freezing water.

“Okay.”

And suddenly the ice thawed.

Lance tore his eyes away from the scar on Keith’s arm and rose to meet his gaze. “Okay, what?”

“I’ll join your team,” Keith said, and nothing about his expression hinted at an ulterior motive. His words were true. He really wanted to do this.

Lance’s face lit up, and his grin was warm and sincere. “Really?”

“One condition, though,” Keith held up a hand. “Ballet has to come first. I can’t skip rehearsals, classes, or performances for this. Also, if we get caught by the cops at any point in time for trespassing or drinking or whatever, I’m not bailing your sorry ass out. I guess that’s two conditions, but you get the point –”

Keith didn’t get to finish his sentence. Lance launched forward and dragged Keith unwittingly into a bear hug, smothering him with all the happiness he could possibly project.

“Keith, I don’t care if you want a million dollars and a teacup pig for every performance,” Lance practically shook with excitement. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You won’t regret this, I swear! God, Keith, I could kiss you right now!”

“Please don’t,” Keith squeaked, blushing violently. Lance hardly noticed, nor did he feel embarrassed himself, because he was too busy being completely and utterly _ecstatic._

Lance pulled back from Keith and smiled with all the brightness of a supernova. “We’re going to make such a good team – just you wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa, chapter three is done! I honestly never thought I'd finish this damn chapter but here we are
> 
> The new-and-improved Team Voltron gets down to business in the next chap, lol rip me
> 
> [my tumblr](http://panglosian.tumblr.com/)


	4. Turnout For What

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Keith warms up and Lance gets heated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so…hi
> 
> bet you thought you’d seen the last of me
> 
> In all seriousness, I seriously considered discontinuing both of my fics. It’s been a really crazy year for me and it started to get hard to keep up with all of my work. Fics just sort of fell to the wayside. Since my last update, I transferred colleges, changed my major three times, was diagnosed with three different acute mental illnesses, and subsequently had to take a leave of absence from school just when I was getting used to things. I lost all my inspiration, and a lot of the joy that I used to put into my writing just disappeared. Right now, even though it sounds dumb, forcing myself to update my fics is a step in the right direction, so here you go
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with this fic. I do want to finish this story, because I feel like I owe it to these dorks to wrap their story up. The updates will be a little shorter, and it might take me a little longer between updates, but I WILL FINISH.
> 
> y’all are the goat for sticking it out through the longest hiatus ever <3

Keith strongly believed that he left his stage fright behind in his childhood. It had been years since he’d felt butterflies in his stomach before any performance, and whenever he felt the telltale prickle of doubt at the back of his mind, a few reassuring thoughts always snapped him out of it. Dance was his life, and more importantly, it was his job. He never had time to think twice about a performance – he just got out there and delivered.

As he stood outside of room 2C, however, his heart was thumping at an unhealthy rate. _What’s wrong with me?_ Keith thought as he stared at the door, his eyebrows drawn together.

He was never afraid of dancing in front of people. Even when he first started out in ballet, when he _knew_ that people would make fun of him for dancing in tights with a bunch of girls, he never thought twice about his decision. It made him feel good, so he didn’t care about whoever happened to be watching.

Hip-hop? Now that was a different story.

He was seventeen when he first asked Shiro to teach him his moves. It had been a year since he moved to the city with his brother, and he had seen him practice often enough. Sometimes, they would even practice their choreography at the same time, music overlapping, stepping around one another in their tiny living room. Sometimes they would gradually increase the music on their respective speakers in an attempt to drown out the other, and when the space became a cacophony of Bach and Whiz Khalifa, they would collapse over each other and laugh.

One day, during one of these unusual sessions, Keith was tired of running choreography. He was starring in his second production of _The Nutcracker_ , and if he had to listen to the _grand divertissement_ one more time, he was going to lose his mind.

So he paused his music, asked Shiro to teach him something new, and the rest was history.

There he was, three short years later, and he couldn’t even convince himself to turn the knob and walk into the practice room. He could feel his palm begin to sweat. He could see the dark interior of the room through the one-way window: the mangled aux cord dangling in the corner, the hairline crack that split up the side of the furthest mirror, the scuffs on the floor from countless pairs of shoes. Clearly Team Voltron had spent a long time together in that room, working together and bonding as a team.

Who was he to walk in and mess all of that up?

“Hey Keith!”

Keith jumped as a massive hand came down on his shoulder. He spun around and took a deep, relieved breath when he saw that it was only Hunk. “Oh, hey.”

“Sorry, man, did I scare you?” Hunk drew his lips into a tight line.

Keith glanced down at his shirt, which had a graphic of a blinged-out cat on it. The words below read _good kid, m.A.A.d kitty._ If he wasn’t so nervous, he would have laughed. “Not really. I was just… thinking.”

“Worrying?”

Keith’s eyes snapped up. “A little, I guess.”

“Dude, don’t sweat it,” Hunk grinned, opening the door to the practice room. Warm, stale air spilled out as he flipped on the light switch and made a grab for the remote that controlled the AC unit. “If you dance half as well today as you did during the exhibition, we’re set for the rest of the season.”

Keith’s eyes widened a fraction. “Uh, thanks.”

Hunk rummaged around in his bag and produced a veritable rainbow of colored bottles. “Now, what’s your favorite Gatorade flavor? I wanted to do something nice – y’know, for your first day and everything – but I panicked and got them all.”

That did make Keith laugh. “I like red.”

“Here,” Hunk shifted the bottles awkwardly in his arms and tossed one to him. “Also, do you like pound cake? Shay and I were baking last night and we made too much.”

Before Keith could respond, Pidge kicked in the door, balancing their MacBook on their forearm. _“Did someone say pound cake?”_

“Keith’s the new guy, so he gets first dibs,” Hunk dropped the bottles with a clatter and crossed his arms.

“What happened to tenure?” Pidge pouted.

“Pidge, we don’t have tenure here.”

“Well we should!”

Keith’s smile was soft, and his laugh was softer. His heart melted at the sight of their lighthearted bickering. “Guys, calm down. I don’t really eat cake. Pidge, you can have it.”

“Score!” Pidge hissed, opening their hands to catch the wad of cake and saran wrap that was thrown their way. “Lance is going to be so angry when he gets here, and I am _not_ sharing.”

“Where is he, anyway?” Keith glanced towards the door. He had half expected Lance to bust through the door right after Pidge.

“The royal pain in my ass is getting coffee,” Pidge rolled their eyes, unwrapping the cake and popping a corner in their mouth. They murmured a vague string of garbled praises before continuing, “He’s the epitome of ‘shows up fifteen minutes late with Starbucks’.”

“Let’s start out with some core to warm up,” Hunk brushed his hands off on his pants and stood up. “He’ll stumble in here eventually.”

“Ew, core,” Pidge narrowed their eyes, but joined Hunk and Keith in the middle of the floor anyway.

Core work was cathartic to Keith. In fact, exercise in general was just one more way to get Keith in the zone, and once he got in the zone it was hard to get him out. It was like he couldn’t even feel the burn under his skin or the strain in his muscles. They formed a circle and had a planking contest, which Keith indisputably won. Even after the other two tapped out, he was still going, stuck in his head.

Only a few things could snap him out of it. Apparently, Lance happened to be one of these things.

_“Hola, mis amigos!”_ Lance called out boisterously as he plopped his Frappuccino down on the floor and dropped his bags. Keith promptly collapsed on his face, groaning. “Miss me?”

Keith glanced at the clock. 10:15. Pidge was right on the money. “You’re late.”

“Well aren’t you observant,” Lance snorted, producing a tray of drinks from behind his back. “Ingrates don’t get coffee, you know. You might want to apologize.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” Keith deadpanned as Pidge and Hunk scrambled to get up, ambushing Lance for the coffees.

“It’s a good damn thing I got you a tea, then,” Lance’s smile was sly, waving the cup in front of Keith’s face as he approached him.

Keith sniffed tentatively, and when the scent of lemon and ginger hit his nose, he swiped the cup from Lance, muttering a small “thanks” before taking a long sip. The liquid warmed his belly, and he suddenly felt a little better.

“How did you know I liked lemon ginger tea?” Keith asked as Pidge practically chugged her red eye.

Lance shrugged, but Keith could see a satisfied smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I asked your brother.”

Keith raised his eyebrows, but didn’t offer a reply as he sipped the tea slowly, careful not to burn his tongue.

“So I was thinking,” Lance slurped his sugary monstrosity before flipping through a tiny notebook. Keith leaned to get a better look at the pages, which were covered in haphazard chicken scratch and vague stick-figure diagrams, as Lance continued, “If we’re going to stand any chance against the competition, we need to play to our strengths. Now that we have Keith, we might actually be able to advance past the doubles round, which means we have to start thinking about who’s going to the singles around and, if we manage to win that, what dances we’re going to bring to the final team battle.”

“Um…” Keith pursed his lips, eyes darting between his new team members. “Sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Three heads swiveled towards him. Three sets of eyes looked at him like he just dropped out of the sky. Pidge was the first to say, “You mean Shiro didn’t tell you _any_ of the tournament rules?”

Keith shrugged. “He never needed to. It’s not like he expected me to join up with a team after the exhibition.”

“That’s fair,” Hunk murmured.

“All right, crash course for the newbie,” Lance explained. “The tournament is broken down into four rounds: team battles, double battles, single battle, and the final team battle. Eight teams go in, one team comes out. The battles are decided by brackets –”

“Like March Madness!” Hunk piped up.

Lance snickered. “Yeah, Hunk. Like March Madness. Anyway, so our job is to defeat one team on every level until we win. That’s the ultimate goal.”

“Team battles requires the entire team to compete,” Hunk said. “Double battles consist of a chosen pair from each team. Single battles just have one person from each team, and the final team battle is like the coup de grace of all team battles – only the best two teams in the tournament, going head to head.”

“If you lose once, you’re out,” Pidge added. “So, basically we can’t.”

“How well do you guys usually do?” Keith inquired, warming his hands on his cup of tea.

The whole team hesitated at that. He could see some worried glances being exchanged before Hunk said, “We’ve never made it past the doubles round.”

Keith raised his eyebrows. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Pidge rolled her eyes. Though she was trying to come off as detached, he could see the subtle look of embarrassment in her face.

“But we have you now, so we’ve got nothing to worry about,” Lance’s smile was absolutely blinding, and it did _things_ to Keith.

Seeing Lance look so undeniably hopeful made Keith want to hurl. He felt the panic rise in his chest once again, and this time it was thick, coating his throat until it was all that he could feel, all that he could breathe. The feeling was so foreign that he nearly gasped out loud. Time slowed, and he found that he couldn’t pry his eyes away from Lance’s face, his eyes, his smile. He could practically see that smile drop away in his mind’s eye, the shame of failure plaguing his features. If they failed, it would be all Keith’s fault. He was their chance, and it was terrifying.

Pressure. This is what pressure felt like.

He sculpted his face into a picture of nonchalance, hoping that nobody could see the battle that was raging inside of his mind. Pidge and Hunk were discussing moves and step sequences, not paying Keith any mind. He thought he was in the clear until he turned and saw Lance’s face.

His eyes scanned Keith’s face, and his lips tightened. He mouthed, _Are you okay?_

Keith blinked, astonished. Slowly, he took a shaky breath and nodded. He watched the tension slip out of Lance’s shoulders, and his expression relaxed. He was _worried_ about Keith? Where had that come from?

“We should get Keith caught up on the team dances,” Hunk interjected.

“Good idea, Hunk,” Lance got up and brushed himself off, offering a hand to Keith. “How good are you at picking up choreography?”

Keith gave him a confident smirk as he used his hand to haul himself up. His momentum brought him closer to Lance’s face than he’d intended, and he had to ward off a blush at their proximity. “I’m a professional ballet dancer. I’m the _best_ at picking up choreography.”

 

* * *

 

Lance had never had such a successful rehearsal in his life.

He was actually _giddy_ by the time the first hour passed by. Their warm-up was brief, and Keith wasn’t lying when he said that he picked up choreography quickly. He managed to get through teaching him three different combinations before practice ended, and he hardly stopped to ask questions. In fact, he hardly stopped at _all,_ even when they took water breaks. Water bottle in one hand, he marked through the steps as Hunk’s practice playlist cycled through its tracks. Lance watched him work out of the corner of his eye, and when he looked back at Pidge, she nodded appreciatively at him.

There was no denying that Keith had a fantastic work ethic, which was great, but Lance was confused. The same person he’d seen at the Midnight Exhibition wasn’t the person dancing in front of him. Something was off.

After running through all the combinations perfectly in succession, Lance glanced up at the clock and said, “It’s been an hour and a half. Pidge and I should split so you two have some time to work on doubles combos.”

“We don’t have to do that today,” Lance said, rolling a kink out of his neck. “We can start on another group combination.”

“No can do, compadre,” Pidge said. “I have an exam to study for.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “It’s the summer.”

“Summer classes, dude,” Pidge scoffed. “I want to graduate ASAP. Gotta get my academic grind on.”

“You two will be fine,” Hunk picked up his bag and tapped out a message on his phone. “Besides, the group dances aren’t where we’re lacking. We can secure a spot in the double round, but it’s up to you to get us past that.”

“Good job today, Keith,” Pidge slapped him a high five on her way out, Hunk not too far behind her. “Say hi to Shiro for me.”

When the door clicked shut, the sound reverberated through the room. The silence seemed deafening, suddenly, and Lance could feel a thick blanket of awkwardness settle over the two of them. He could see in the way Keith’s face tightened that he felt it too.

“So…” Lance rocked back and forth on his feet. “How do you like the team so far?”

Keith blinked, as if the question surprised him. “I-It’s fine. They’re fine. Different, but good.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty easy to love.” Lance made his way over to the aux cord and plugged his own phone in, scrolling to his choreographing playlist. “You’ll get used to all of this. Best way to learn is to get thrown in.”

“Then throw me in,” Keith said, his tone challenging.

Lance, shocked at his boldness, tossed a smirk his way. “Okay, pretty boy. We’ll start out strong.”

Lance pressed play, and Chris Brown’s ‘Run It!’ blasted through the speaker. He could physically see Keith’s body adjust to the music, like it was an automatic function. How did he _do_ things like that – like some kind of dance machine?

“Okay, so here’s how it works, in case you haven’t picked up on it yet,” Lance explained, shaking his arms loose. “I do most of the choreographing. I usually choreograph combinations to a certain song, but you never know what song’s going to get thrown at you during competition, so you really have to know how to adjust to different tempos and styles. I’m usually the one who decides what combinations we do when, so I’ve got the hard job.”

“Yeah, Shiro had a similar system,” Keith noticed. “Have you ever had a song play during competition that you tailor-made a combo to?”

Lance smiled wistfully. “Only like twice in my whole career. But when it happens – instant win, man. Nothing can stop us then.”

Keith smirked. “Must feel good.”

“It definitely does,” Lance took his place next to Keith, slightly in front of him so the boy beside him could see his movements. “Now this is a combo I was working on with Shay. I feel pretty solid about it. The codename is ‘Throw’ – watch.”

At the next chorus, Lance launched into the combo. It was a lot of isolated movement, which Pidge suggested, and a bunch of flashy whacking. Strategic pauses allowed the beat to hang in the air, and the whole thing really flowed together despite the jerkiness of it all. When he was done, he turned to Keith and asked, “So, what do you think?”

Keith’s face was unreadable. “Let’s try it together.”

As soon as they were able, Lance counted them down, and they were off. Lance could feel the sweat building on his forehead as they ran through it once, twice, three times. His muscles burned with a satisfying ache by the time the track rolled over.

When he looked to his left, however, Keith was looking disgruntled. His thick eyebrows were pulled together, and he was staring at the ground, as if he was trying to figure something out.

Lance frowned. “What is it?”

“I just…” Keith trailed off.

“Come on dude, just tell me what’s on your mind,” Lance insisted.

“I can’t figure this out,” Keith said. “Something doesn’t feel right. Can we try it again?”

Lance’s frown deepened. That was odd; Keith was doing so well earlier – why was he getting hung up now? “Sure, let’s take it from the top.”

They were halfway through the combination when Lance saw Keith stop out of the corner of his eye. Lance stumbled out of a move and fished the remote out of his pocket, pausing the music. “Dude, what gives? We were doing so good!”

“No _you_ were doing so good!” Keith burst out, and now Lance wasn’t sure if his face was red from exertion or anger. Lance recoiled – where was this coming from? “You… Jesus, it’s like you weren’t even watching me at all!”

_“What?”_ Now Lance really was perplexed.

“Do you even bother looking at your partner when you dance?” Keith fixed him with a scrutinizing gaze.

“W-What?” Lance repeated, dumbfounded. “I shouldn’t have to! That’s the point of good partnership – we should be able to dance together well without having to look at each other constantly.”

“Well not _constantly,_ but…” Keith groaned and pressed his hands to his forehead. “You’re acting like we’re two separate soloists who just happen to be doing the same choreography.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Lance, have you ever stopped to think about why you haven’t won a doubles battle yet?” Keith inquired.

Lance face twisted up, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I just don’t have good chemistry with Pidge or Hunk.”

“Have you ever entertained the idea that it’s because of you? Because you’re so used to being the front man that you can’t work one-on-one with another person?”

Lance’s nostrils flared. “That’s _not_ true.”

“Lance –”

“What do you know, anyway?” Lance shouted. “You think you can just… just _barge_ in here and tell me that everything I do is wrong?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Keith said firmly. “I’m just saying that maybe you could adapt your choreography a little better, especially now that there’s two of us.”

“Shay didn’t have a problem with it.”

“Yeah, well _Shay’s not here._ ” Keith growled. Wait, when had he gotten so close? They were practically nose-to-nose now, and Lance didn’t like how small that made him feel, even if he was the taller man. Keith smelled like sweat, undeniably, but there was something else there too. Something smoky – cologne, maybe? Whatever it was, it was clouding Lance’s mind, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss Keith or shove him away.

Being the hot-head that he was, he did the latter.

“Forget it,” he said, pushing forcefully past Keith. Before he knew it, he’d yanked his phone out of the aux cord, which Pidge would likely give him an earful for later, and slung his bag awkwardly over his shoulder. “Good practice. I’ll see you later.”

“Lance,” Keith called out as he left. “ _Lance!_ You can’t just –”

The door slammed shut behind him, and he made a beeline for the stairs. He faintly heard Keith yelling at him from inside the practice room, but he ignored it in favor of getting as far away from Altea Academy as possible.

 

* * *

 

“So?” Shiro asked when Keith shoved in the door of their apartment. “How did it go?”

“Fine,” Keith grumbled as he headed straight for his room, longing for the feeling of his lumpy mattress under his back and the sweet release of sleep.

The interior of their apartment was small, so he was hoping that if he walked fast enough, he could avoid talking to his brother entirely. Shiro was sitting on the couch watching sports, his hand buried in a bowl of tortilla chips, so if Keith just slipped past –

“Oh no you don’t,” Shiro placed the bowl on the table and vaulted over the back fo the couch in one fell swoop. Keith groaned; so much for avoidance.

“I’m tired.” Keith still tried to get to his room, but Shiro grabbed him from the back and spun him around to face him. _“Shiro.”_

“You don’t get off that easy,” Shiro said. “What happened?”

Keith was silent for a moment, then said, “We went over a couple of combinations. I memorized some dances. The usual.”

“Were they nice?” Shiro pushed further.

“Of course they were.”

“Did Lance treat you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Did _you_ treat him okay?”

“Shiro, it was fine!” Keith barked. Shiro fell silent, his words suddenly cut off. His frown was both disapproving and concerned at the same time, and Keith cringed internally because he _hated_ how much power that expression had over him. “Lance and I… it’s just going to take some time before we start to click. That’s it.”

“You seemed to click really well during the Exhibition.”

“Yeah, well that was in the past,” Keith gritted his teeth. “Maybe it was a fluke – I don’t know.”

“It was _not_ a fluke,” Shiro stated. “I was there. I saw you two.”

“You don’t know what you saw,” Keith murmured. “I don’t even know what that was. All I _do_ know is that today, it wasn’t there. If there even was an ‘it’ at all.”

Shiro reached out to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Keith…”

Keith swerved out of the way and ducked into his room. “Just leave me alone for a while.”

Shiro said nothing as Keith shut the door softly behind him, dumping his dance bag on the floor next to his dresser. It had grown heavier over the past week, since he’d been carrying both his hip-hop gear and his ballet gear in one receptacle. That weight used to be promising, but now it felt like just that – a weight. The pressure of the strap seemed to follow him as he kicked off his shoes and collapsed into bed. It was still light outside, but he felt like he could sleep well into the night, maybe even to the next morning. His exhaustion was inexplicable.

Keith nuzzled his face into a pillow and breathed a deep sigh. Maybe joining the team wasn’t such a good idea after all.

He blinked as a series of crisp dings echoed through his room. He groped around for his phone, which he’d tossed into the sheets with him, and tapped on the screen to view the notification. It was a message.

_Hunk?_ Keith thought as he opened the message.

**Hunk:** hey keith! just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing

**Hunk:** we’re all really happy to have you on the team. even lance, but he has a funny way of showing it sometimes :)

**Hunk:** if you ever need anything from any of us, please don’t hesitate to ask. i know things must be kind of nerve wracking for you right now, but we’re in your corner!! and if you ever need extra help I’m always here

Keith blinked at the message, scanning it over a second time to make sure that he wasn’t getting fuzzy feelings in his stomach for no reason. He found himself smiling in spite of himself; Keith had never known someone to be so genuinely kind, and to a perfect stranger too. He didn’t know Keith. He didn’t need to be nice.

What was he so scared of? Just because he and Lance had an off day doesn’t mean he should throw all of it away. The last thing he wanted was to let the others down, even if he and Lance argued. Besides, Keith was the one who made the commitment. It was up to him to uphold that. He was part of a team now, and as he tapped out a reply to Hunk, he felt that sentiment sink into his chest and embed itself inside of him.

**Keith:** Thanks Hunk. See you at practice

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmmmm feelings
> 
> thanks again for sticking with this fic!!! next chap is the first round of competition, so be there or be square 
> 
> [my tumblr](http://panglosian.tumblr.com/)


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